The Broken Road
by Mylee
Summary: This is the last story in The Breakaway Trilogy and picks up two months after Separate Lives ended. What happens when a super secret agent and a corporate lawyer cross paths in Las Vegas? Read on to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter One

The waves gently rolled in, broke against the sand, and rolled back out again, a continuous, calming, and harmonious cycle. The sun reflected off the ever-changing water, a gorgeous pearly peach. A warm early summer breeze blew by, whipping up the sand and twirling it lightly before depositing it back on the nearly isolated beach. Having finished her cool down from her jog, Trixie collapsed down onto the sand, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead. She slipped off her sneakers and her socks, let out a loud expulsion of breath that frightened a nearby bird into flight, and concentrated on turning off her iPod. Grateful to take a few minutes to herself, she pulled her legs up and rested her hands on her knees, smiling in appreciation at the breathtaking scene nature had painted specifically for her through darkly tinted sunglasses. She never grew tired of the scene. It was one of absolute and pure beauty.

A hand dropped on her sweaty shoulder, made her jump and brought her out of her peaceful and tranquil thought, but didn't scare her. She knew who it was. Chuckling lowly, Max dropped down beside her and grinned. He spread his long limbs out and leaned back on his elbows, making himself comfortable. "Penny for your thoughts," he murmured, aiming a charming wink her way.

Reaching up, she absently took out the ponytail holder and set her curls free. "With the recession we're in, you're going to have to do much better than that, Mr. Donovan. A penny's not worth much these days," she replied dryly and, unfortunately, quite truthfully. "Make it a twenty and you've got a deal."

A soft, feminine laugh followed. Another person sat down on the opposite side of Max. Pressing a hand to her expanding belly, Jocelyn looked past Max and smiled widely, looking lovely in a soft yellow sundress. "Hey. You're going to have to go easy on us, Belden. Max here is going to be unemployed soon. I already am. A penny's about all we have," she added with a deep, throaty chuckle when Max just rolled his eyes at her.

Trixie curled her toes into the warmth of the sand. It was odd working without Jocelyn. She couldn't imagine what it was going to feel like when Max was no longer there. Tapping her remaining partner on the shoulder, she stated easily, "This is your last assignment, Max. How does it make you feel?" She tilted her head to the side, curious about his answer. He was never too open with his feelings.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. Leaving wasn't proving to be as hard as he thought it would be, not when his wife of almost two months was no longer employed by the agency. While the few missions he had completed without her were still more than challenging, a lot of the excitement had waned for him, a sign that it was definitely time for him to leave. He could almost visualize his much-needed edge slipping away. An agent without his (or her) edge was dangerous to the welfare of any mission. Squeezing his wife's bare knee, he admitted honestly, "Not too bad, Belden. Not too bad at all."

Jocelyn reached down and picked up a small, flat stone. Absently, she rubbed it and glanced out over the wide expanse of ocean. "Max was given the okay by the Chief to tell me about his last assignment so I know all about it."

"It promises to be one of our easier ones," Max murmured. As much as he would like to go out in a blaze of glory, he was more than content to leave the agency after a less than complex mission. It wasn't exactly an in and out; it would take a little finesse, a few lies, and a whole lot of playacting. All they had to do was gain the mark's trust, make the sale, and get out of Dodge. Nothing too hard. Nothing too difficult. Simple.

Jocelyn nodded. It suited her just fine. Now that she was officially out of the CDA and enjoying a normal life, she was more than ready for Max to join her. Sitting on the sidelines the past few weeks while he finished out what he felt were his obligations to the agency was just about killing her. She wanted him home.

"Yeah. It really does." Trixie wrapped her ear buds around her iPod and set it off to the side. "In fact, it sounds like one of the easiest ones we've ever been assigned to. I think the Chief is going soft on you, Max," she said, giving him a playful punch.

"Hey, I'm not going to turn down a trip to the Vegas strip," Max replied, hands up in supplication. "You ever been there before, Trixie?"

Long blonde curls danced with the negative shake of her head. "No. Never have. We may actually be able to have some fun, too." Not that she was counting on it. Fun was not synonymous with any of their missions.

Jocelyn took off her matching yellow sandals and placed them off to the side. The warm sand felt wonderful underneath her slightly swollen feet. "Las Vegas," she said, imagining the possibilities. Even a pregnant woman could have fun there, she mused quietly. Arching an interested eyebrow, she suggested, "You know, Heidi and I were kicking around the idea of taking a vacation while you and the rest of the crew are gone. Vegas would be the perfect place to go. What do you think about that?"

The glare Max sent in her direction didn't need many words to accompany it. "Joss," he began and then stopped when a stream of loud laughter began pouring out of her.

"Can't blame a girl for trying, can you?" she asked rhetorically, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed mirth.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go once I'm unemployed. I promise," Max declared, draping an arm around Jocelyn's tan shoulder. She leaned into him, content with the answer, although she would give just about anything to be with him on any of his missions.

The picture the two of them made caused her smile to grow. But it sputtered off her face as a spear of longing shot through her, making her wish for someone to share such a moment with. Her heart knew who that _someone _was, too. Ducking her head, not wanting them to see into her innermost thoughts, she picked up a handful of sand. The fine grains slipped through her fingers, to land back on the beach. She watched it with avid interest and cleared her throat, needing a distraction before she turned all maudlin on them. As usual, she found it in her work. "We're going to have a solid back-up team watching our every move, too. Shane's coming with us, plus a few others that we've worked with in the past. Even better, it shouldn't take all that long; most likely a week at the most. It won't be too long before that husband of yours can take you anywhere you want to go, any time you want to do it."

It sounded pure and sweet to her. "I'm looking forward to that time. Do you think you could hurry things along?" Jocelyn turned wide, pleading eyes on her husband.

"We'll try, Joss," Max assured her, unable to resist the blatant manipulation of his wife. He caught her hand, held it within his, and cocked his head towards Trixie. "It all depends on how quickly we can gain our mark's trust and make the deal. As Belden said, we're predicting a week or less."

Trixie nodded her agreement. A week was the estimated time for completion. In all the missions they've worked together on over the years, this one here promised to be one of the simplest. All she and Max had to was gain the trust of one Eric S. Young and sell him some vital information. Then they could walk or, in this case, fly away while the rest of the team followed through and discovered what Mr. Young did with the information and who he attempted to sell it to.

"Hey, Trixie." Jocelyn reached across Max and tapped her friend on the knee, deciding now was a great time to unleash her humor. Straight-faced, with only the slightest twitch of her lips, she declared, proud of herself when none of her laughter bubbled out, "I can tell you that if Max has to have a pretend fiancée for this case, I'm glad it's you."

She took off her sunglasses, all the better to see the unconcealed amusement swirling in Jocelyn's eyes. "Thanks," she replied dryly, a lone eyebrow arched high. "That means a lot."

"No, really. I mean it," Jocelyn spoke insistently, her eyes dancing with delight. "You two are such a perfect match. I mean, it's just so obvious that you two were meant to be together." Deep chortles of glee started bubbling up and out, startling a few wayward seagulls back into the air.

Max hugged his laughing wife closer and focused on Trixie, looking both chagrinned and amused. "She's been laughing about it ever since I told her our roles for the mission. I can't get her to stop," he admitted quietly. Leaning closer, he shared in a conspiratorial whisper, "Don't mind her. I'm convinced it's the hormones."

Although her cheeks were tinted a soft pink, Trixie understood immediately Jocelyn's humor. "She's right, though. We are a rather odd pick," she replied, her chuckles mixing with Jocelyn's. Her dimples started to wink in her cheeks.

Max had to raise his voice over the laughter trickling out of his wife. "I think Chief Ogilvie knew that you were the only agent Jocelyn wouldn't mind having me paired up with," he inferred accurately. "She trusts you, Trixie."

"And I trust you," Trixie mumbled under her breath. Trust had been more than earned over the past seven years. She had trusted both of them with her life too many times to count. It had been reciprocated just as many times over the years. She stood up and dusted off the sand, wanting to end the current conversation. Somehow talking about pretending to be someone's fiancée with the pregnant wife as an avid and interested audience wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Gesturing towards the path, she offered without hesitation, "Do you want to go inside and get something to drink? It's hot out here."

"I could use some water," Jocelyn announced, the laughter finally subsiding. When her first attempt to stand didn't go that well, she accepted Max's hand and stood up with his assistance. "All that laughing has made me parched." As she slipped back into her sandals, she couldn't resist one more giggle. It would be so much fun to be a fly on the wall, to watch her husband and her good friend attempt to masquerade as an engaged couple. They would make it work even though there wasn't an ounce of chemistry between them.

With his wife's hand firmly held in his, Max followed Trixie up the sandy path to the large and attractive deck, one of the best features of the house. "You're probably wondering why we stopped by," he said as they trooped up the steps together.

"You mean you didn't come by just to let Jocelyn indulge in a fit of hysteria at my expense?" Trixie quirked an eyebrow and stepped through the French doors.

"You've got quite an understated sense of humor there, Belden," Max replied sarcastically and followed her into the kitchen. He bit back a comment at the odd décor and color combination of Trixie's home. The pink always made him stop short, as did the assorted knickknacks and frilly furniture. It simply didn't fit with her. "Anyway, we came to drop off your packets. I left the information you're going to need on the table."

Trixie handed the bottle of water over to Jocelyn and picked up the first of two manila envelopes, both addressed to her. A plane ticket fell out. "Wednesday morning," she murmured to herself, tapping a short finger on the gleaming countertop. "Bright and early. That gives me exactly seven days to pack for the trip."

"No need to worry about that," Jocelyn chirped out cheerfully after taking a long swig of her water. "Heidi and I volunteered to take care of all your packing needs for you. You don't need to lift a finger. You don't even need to buy an outfit or pack any toiletries. You don't need to worry about anything. We'll take care of it for you."

Sharp sapphire blue eyes leveled on her friend's innocent face. She didn't like the sound of it, not one little bit. "What are you two going to do to me?" she wondered aloud, immediately suspicious.

"Nothing…bad," Jocelyn hastened to tack on although her lips were beginning to twitch again. "We merely plan on taking Mr. Young's profile to heart. Faithful to his wife, loves her dearly; they've been married for twenty-four years, you know. However, he still has an appreciative eye for the ladies, especially blondes with pretty blue eyes. And especially blondes who like to dress like they belong in Vegas. We are simply going to make certain that his eye will be more than appreciative for you." To top it off, she blinked…not quite innocently.

Trixie muttered a rarely spoken curse word under her breath, imagining the wardrobe the two of them were going to put together. It would probably rival the closet of any showgirl. "Lovely," she muttered under her breath, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

"Don't worry. It will be," Jocelyn assured her, ignoring the sarcasm and desperately trying to ward off another attack of the giggles. "Glitzy and flashy are the adjectives of your vacation. You don't have to lift a finger. Everything we pick will set off all your…assets to perfection." She almost said it with a smooth face. Almost. Unfortunately, she couldn't hold her laughter in. It reverberated off the pristine walls of the kitchen.

Trixie shuddered, more than certain that she was going to despise her outfits. She glanced down at her dark gray tank top and burnt orange mesh running shorts. Yeah, glitzy and flashy weren't anywhere near her normal style. While she could pull it off and had many times before, it was more than a little bit out of her comfort zone. In other words, she hated it. With a passion. Swallowing a groan, she turned to Max. "I've got my plane ticket and, thanks to your wife over there, I don't have to do any shopping or packing. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Just study your profile. Out of all the information we've gleaned about Mr. Young, he only deals with people that he one hundred percent trusts. We need to know our backgrounds, forward and back, Trixie. We can't afford any mistakes. If we make any, we have to be able to react quickly to save it." He tapped the second envelope sitting on the counter. "Everything you need is in here."

"Thanks. I can handle it." It would give her something to focus on besides the hideous wardrobe her friends were planning on putting together for her. "What else do I need to know?"

"Since he has a thing for the ladies, you'll be the point of contact. You need to get in touch with Mr. Young within the next day or two. His contact information is inside here." Max held up the envelope to punctuate his point. "You'll most likely have to talk to a lackey first. Let him know what we are selling; see if you can whet his interest. Then give him your phone number for contact information. You can share that you'll be in Vegas in the middle of the week if he's interested in meeting with us."

She digested the directions, putting them to memory. Max was perfectly capable of taking care of the preliminaries but she recognized what he was doing. It wasn't merely because Mr. Young liked women. No, Max wanted her to take charge since he wasn't going to be around after they came back from Las Vegas. "I'll do it."

"Good. That's it, then. We'll see in you a few days." Holding her sides, which ached from all her laughing, Jocelyn led the way through the house to the front door. Max grabbed Trixie's elbow and held her back as Jocelyn walked away. Quickly, he whispered so his wife wouldn't hear him, "You should know that I chose not to add my alias to your information, Trixie. I thought it would be beneficial so you aren't tied down to me, just in case we need to make a quick change. All Mr. Young and his employees will know is that you have a fiancé. Don't let my assumed name slip out, okay?"

About to question, she stopped. His quick nod towards Jocelyn answered her question. "I understand," she murmured softly. "I won't say a thing. I promise."

He blew out a relieved breath, grateful that she understood. "Thanks. The chances of anything going wrong are slim to none but…" He lifted his shoulders. "I'll be in touch, Trixie."

"And I'll be shopping!" Jocelyn called out blithely, her smile widening at the growing scowl on Trixie's face.

Trixie ignored Jocelyn's comment, knowing it would be fruitless to argue. She was going to be stuck with whatever clothes the duo came up with. What fun. "So, will we be traveling together on Wednesday?"

"Since we're supposed to be the picture of a devoted couple, of course we will be. I'll pick you up early Wednesday morning for our flight. We should be in Vegas in the afternoon. If all goes well, we'll make our first contact soon after." He nodded his head, hoping his prediction would be correct.

"Heidi and I will deliver your luggage then, too. We also have plans of helping you dress for success, too." She gave Trixie a broad wink.

"Can't wait," she said, her tone belying the words. "I'll see you on Wednesday." She closed the door, turned a blind eye to the pink interior, and headed back into the kitchen, wanting to see what else they delivered. She didn't waste a second before opening the second envelope. Out fell two discs. One was marked with her assumed name for the mission. Beatrix B. Johnson, her choice. The name made her eyes light up. She'd learned right off that it was best to keep her name as close to normal as possible when a new identify was required. It helped alleviate some of the problems with learning a new identity. The Johnson was included at her own suggestion. Setting it aside, knowing she would need to devote a lot of time to memorizing the multitude of information on it, she picked up the second disc, pleased by its presence. It looked like she was the one in charge of protecting the information they were peddling to Mr. Young. "Fine by me," she said in a quiet undertone and placed it back on the table.

So intent on the objects, so intent on running through what she needed to do, the chime of her cell phone startled her. Laughing at her foolishness, Trixie sprinted over to the counter and answered without looking at the caller id, "Hello?"

"Trixie!" Honey's joyful voice answered.

"Honey Belden," Trixie replied, happy to have her friend and newest sister-in-law on the phone. Immediately, all thoughts about her upcoming mission dissipated into the air. Suddenly, she became simple Trixie Belden of Sleepyside again. Cradling the cell phone, she left the kitchen and its newest items and strolled down the hallway towards her bedroom, twirling a curl the entire way. "How are you?"

"I'm great," Honey answered, twirling a strand of long hair around her finger. She picked up her glass of lemonade and walked out to her back porch. There was nothing quite like n early June evening. Wind chimes tinkled musically with the advent of a slow moving breeze. "Brian left a message. He's going to be working later today than he anticipated so I'm alone for awhile. I thought I'd spend my time wisely and give you a call. What's going on in sunny California?"

"It's sunny," Trixie countered with a cheeky grin, glancing out her bedroom window.

"Hah, hah," Honey laughed and sat down on a new wicker chair, a housewarming gift courtesy of her parents. They had thoughtfully outfitted the entire porch, including the lovely white wicker set, a beautiful wooden glider, porch swing, and an amazing grill, her husband's favorite. It had already been put to the test on more than a few backyard barbecues. "Very funny, Trix."

Unknowingly copying Honey, Trixie settled down onto a chair in her bedroom, putting aside the thoughts of her upcoming mission. There was nothing like making a connection with someone from home. Even though it had only been two months since she'd seen them, she was eager to hear about her hometown. "Tell me about Sleepyside."

"Di is really showing now. Wait until you see her," Honey shared, grinning at the thought of the mom-to-be in their midst. "And she's never looked lovelier. Mart walks around with this starstruck look on his face, as if he can't believe that they are really going to have a baby. Have you talked to them recently?"

"Two nights ago," Trixie shared, smiling at the memory. "They gave me the great news that the newest Belden is going to be…"

"A little girl!" Honey squealed excitedly, nearly spilling her lemonade. She slapped it down on a table and leaned forward. "Can you believe? We're going to have a niece!"

"It was one of the first times where Mart was practically incoherent. He had trouble stringing together two words, let alone the usual nonsense that slips past his lips. Di had to intervene." Her smile widened. It had been sweet to hear. Would have been even sweeter to see, a nagging voice whispered into her ear that she resolutely pushed aside.

"I can imagine." Honey looked down at her flat stomach, wondered how long she would be able to wait before her biological clock started ticking away. Probably about the time she got to hold the little bundle. "I still can't believe you knew about the baby before my wedding and didn't tell me, Trix," she said reprovingly. "You could have told me, you know."

"No, I couldn't," she shot back, understanding exactly how Honey felt. "It wasn't my secret to tell. Mart and Di were very adamant about keeping the baby a secret until after your wedding."

"It was a wonderful surprise," Honey acknowledged and took a dainty sip of her lemonade. "The best ever. Mart and Di showed up at our house shortly after we got home from our honeymoon. They didn't even make it into the house before Mart spilled the news. We couldn't have been happier."

"They couldn't wait to tell you." Ever the restless one, Trixie stood up and started pacing through her house, ignoring the odd assortment of frill and chintz that decorated the place. She ended up at the back window, staring out over the ocean.

Honey leaned back in her chair, a foot swinging idly. "Did you get my latest email? I sent you one right after I got home from work."

"No. I went out for a run and just got back in from it. I haven't had time to check it yet." She changed directions and sat down at the roll top desk, painted white with a floral garden of pink, purple and yellow stenciled across the top of it. She lifted the top back and took out her laptop. "What did you send me this time?"

"Why, more pictures, of course!" Honey answered gaily, giggling. Only she knew that her giggle held a nervous edge to it. Chewing on her lip, she wondered what Trixie would think of one particular picture in the batch. Striving for nonchalance and nearly achieving it, she added, "I've been trying to catch you up to date with the wedding pictures. I don't want you to miss a thing."

"You know I love the pics." Trixie sounded normal but she felt the familiar trepidation work its way up her spine. Honey's nonchalant words didn't fool her. The newest Mrs. Belden always managed to send a picture of her and Jim. She wasn't as eager as she had been to open the newest installment. To put it mildly, the simple act of looking at the pictures caused her to ache. With what, she didn't want to analyze. "The photographer Miss Trask suggested did a fabulous job."

"Don't I know it," Honey murmured, swirling her drink. "We were all so pleased with them." Her lovely hazel eyes darkened while she waited for Trixie to see the newest set. She tried not to be too obvious, only sent one or two of her sister-in-law and her brother together at a clip, but this was the first time she would be able to hear a reaction, firsthand as it were. "Is your computer on?"

"It's ready," Trixie mumbled. She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and called up her email. Ignoring the one from work, she called up Honey's and clicked on the attachments. "Oh, Honey," she breathed out, staring at her best friend and brother holding hands underneath the flowering crabapple trees, eyes only for each other. White blossoms floated down around them, a natural confetti for the blissfully happy newlywed couple.

Honey didn't need to see the picture. Out of the multitude of settings and poses, that one was her favorite. There was something so magical and enchanting about it. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Absolutely." Trixie stared at it a moment longer before forwarding on to the next pictures, murmuring comments about the pictures of her parents, Honey's parents, and the entire wedding party together. There were gorgeous ones taken at the lake, at the gardens and on the cultured grounds of the country club. The photo of Brian and Honey daintily offering each other their first bite of wedding cake, in direct contrast to Mart and Di who had smashed huge pieces into each other's face, made her chuckle. But it was the last picture that made her prattle of comments come to a complete and sudden stop. She couldn't tear her eyes away from it.

Silence stretched on. Knowing full well what picture was holding her dear friend captive, Honey's nerves started to grow. Standing up from her chair, she began pacing the spacious back porch, hoping she hadn't gone too far this time. "Trixie?" she asked, needing to break the silence.

"Sorry," Trixie murmured back. She reached out, touched an unpainted finger along Jim's handsome face. "It's a…nice picture," she finished, rather lamely even to her own ears.

"Yeah. It is." _Nice _was quite an understatement. Honey had debated back and forth over the past few weeks, uncertain if she should email it or not. She had finally decided to take the bull by the horn, or, in this case, the sister-in-law by the curls, and sent it. The picture Trixie was currently looking at was one of the maid of honor and best man dancing during the wedding party dance, the only dance the two of them shared the entire evening. In it, the photographer caught an amazing moment between them, one that she never expected to see. It was all in profile, with the two only having eyes for each other, and the other couples mere specks in the background.

Trixie recognized the part of the dance immediately. It was at the exact start of the dance, the exact moment when she had looked him straight in the face. She was staring up at Jim, her pretty face looking extremely young and uncharacteristically vulnerable. And Jim…he was gazing back at her with something that could only be termed as a deep-seated desire. For her. The potency was practically leaping off the screen. Due to nerves and her hatred of being caught up in the limelight, she hadn't noticed it during the dance. But she couldn't help but notice it now. It made her breath catch almost painfully in her throat. That ache she'd expected was much more than she'd thought it would be. It was long and jagged, causing her breath to come in ragged little bursts.

When Honey said her name, Trixie quickly hit the forward button. Once again, the photo of Honey and Brian showed back up, letting her know that she had viewed them all. Thinking it was amazing how one little picture could shake her to her very core, she dropped back in her chair and silently vowed to overlook it. She had other things to concentrate on, like her upcoming mission, her last one with Max. Understanding that she had to say something before Honey started in with the third degree, she mumbled, "Thanks for sending me the pictures. They're beautiful."

Honey could actually visualize the curtain coming down between them. For once, she didn't let it fall neatly or quietly. "Trixie!" she admonished her, scowling out into her backyard.

"What?" Trixie replied, flinching at the defensive tone of her voice, and felt her cheeks warm in response. She was suddenly grateful for the fact that they were having this conversation on the phone and not in person.

It made Honey grin. She drummed a finger along the porch railing. Deciding to push her advantage, she inquired, "Have you heard from Jim recently? I know that you two actually communicate now, on your own, without one of us Bob-Whites having to act as your go-betweens."

"A few days ago," Trixie said. Her hated blush began to do more than just heat. It started to blossom. She ducked her head and stared at the brilliantly bright white carpet on her floor. "We talked for a few minutes but that's all. I caught him in-between meetings."

Ah. Trixie called Jim. Honey thought that was a very good sign indeed. "He's been working like a fiend," she shared, wishing she could see Trixie's face right now. Trixie was never great at hiding her feelings, especially when they involved Jim. "He's been burning the candle at both ends recently. Between his job and the many road bumps he's hit in building his house at Ten Acres, he hasn't had much of a chance to rest." Honey also suspected that the main reason why he was driving himself so hard resided in San Diego.

"He told me about the problems with his house." Trixie tried to keep her tone casual since both of her sister-in-laws were gifted not only with supersonic hearing but also an extremely annoying intuition, especially when it came to her. "He sounded very frustrated about the progress at Ten Acres."

"It's been one thing after another. He's frustrated, all right. I'll be able to check on him on Friday," Honey said with a small sigh, filing away the information for later. She couldn't wait to tell Di about the progress Trixie was making with Jim. "I'm heading into the city to help my mother with one of her society functions. It's a luncheon and will take up most of the afternoon. I couldn't say no when she asked for me so I get to spend the entire day in the city." She wanted to see how he was faring. She wasn't expecting any changes. Her mother had told her a rather interesting story about Jim, Trixie and the hallway between her old bedroom and her brother's.

"Ah…yes," Trixie muttered, her blush deepening. The last time she saw Madeleine Wheeler burned bright in her mind, as if it had happened yesterday. Crossing her fingers, she hoped Jim's mother had no clue about what she and her tipsy husband had interrupted. "I hope you enjoy it."

"'Enjoy' isn't the exact word I would use." Honey swallowed another little sigh. She much preferred her job and her home with her husband to rubbing elbows with the rich and slightly bored. It wasn't her preferred scene, not by a long shot, even though she had been born into it. "But we're raising money for a good cause so it's worth it. And I'll get to see my family. My mother will be there since she helped organize it. My dad is coming too. The Wheeler family is going to be well-represented." She purposefully didn't mention Jim.

Frowning at some nonexistent speck of dust off in the distance, Trixie's imagination got the better of her. She could visualize Jim attending the society function with a dazzling heiress on his arm. Her frown deepened into a scowl. "Your dad is going to be there, too?" she questioned carefully, unable to voice the one she really wanted to.

Honey rolled her eyes and stood up. There were times when her best friend was simply too stubborn. She decided not to push her any further. "My mother, my father and I will be representing W&H, International. Unfortunately, my wonderful, full-blooded adopted brother refused the offer to eat a delicious lunch and listen to a few well-meaning speeches. He claims he's swamped at work."

"Okay." He wasn't going to be there. Trixie disguised her sigh of relief with a well-timed cough. "Well, I hope it's a success."

"I'm sure it will be. After all, my mother was on the committee that put the whole event together. They always do a wonderful job." Honey rested a hip against the sturdy porch railing.

"So far we've covered your husband, Mart, Di and the new baby, and your brother." Trixie felt the flame increase on her cheeks. What was it about Jim that made her feel like an adolescent again? She blew out a frustrated breath and hurried on, "What about Dan? I haven't heard much about him lately. We've sent a few texts and emails back and forth but I haven't actually spoken with him since your wedding." She always sent him updates on her, exactly as she promised him, and he always responded. They simply hadn't made an actual connection yet.

"I asked Mart the very same question the other day because we haven't talked to him, either. Dan's also been super busy from what I understand. The DEA's definitely keeping him active." The metal bells hanging in different lengths and sizes caught her attention. Honey flicked the middle one, sending all of them in motion and releasing a lovely, comforting tinkling sound.

Trixie leaned back in her chair, relieved that they were off the subject of Jim. "I'm not surprised. He looked a little tired during your wedding week."

"I thought so, too. But he's Dan. He can handle anything." Glancing out at the large back yard, Honey visualized the shrubs, plants and flowering trees she hoped to start planting there. "What about you, Trix? Have you been busy? Do you have anything exciting on tap?"

"I just finished up a case a few days ago which is why I'm home right now," Trixie said, hating to gloss over her work with Honey, her former and favorite partner of all time, but was left with no other option. "I have about a week before I start my next one."

There was a pregnant pause before Honey answered. "Good for you." She bit her bottom lip, always hating it when Trixie couldn't share her job with her. As she harshly reminded herself, she didn't have anyone else to blame but herself. She was the one who decided not to pursue a career in criminal justice. She didn't carry many regrets over her choice except at moments like this. Blinking back a set of sentimental tears, she murmured, "Be safe, Trix. And have fun."

"Don't worry. I'll try." Trixie smiled into the phone.

"I mean it. Have fun," Honey stressed pointedly.

"Fun," Trixie repeated, seriously doubting it. Pretending to be the fiancée of her partner, having her wardrobe planned by two friends who were obviously going to put her in outfits that only a Barbie doll might envy, and selling the contents on that little disc weren't exactly anywhere in the realm of her idea of _fun_. "We'll see, Honey. I'll keep you updated."

"You do that." Honey played with the pale green headband that matched her shirt. "I know your information is about as classified as any of our government's secrets. You aren't able to tell me much. However, can I ask when do you head out?"

"In a week," she replied without hesitating. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her the destination but Trixie caught herself just in time. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't. "I've got a few little chores to do between now and then." She glanced towards the kitchen where her 'chores' were waiting for her.

The sound of wheels on asphalt made her gasp with delight. "Oh, Trix! I think Brian's home earlier than expected!" Hazel eyes lighting up, she leaned over the edge of the railing, caught sight of his car, and let out a shriek of pure happiness. Whirling around, Honey hurried to the porch steps, taking them two at a time. "I've got to go. I'll talk to you later!"

Trixie stared down at the phone. All she could hear was the dial tone. Honey hadn't given her the chance to say good-bye before she hung up. "Too funny," she mumbled and put her cell down on the desk. Then she turned back to her laptop. Almost of her own volition, her fingers called the pictures back up, moving quickly until she came back to the one of her and Jim. Resting her chin in her hands, she studied the picture. It was one of the most powerful ones she ever had the pleasure of viewing. "What do you make of that, Belden?" she asked herself but no answers were forthcoming. She was left at the same point where she had been two months earlier. The separate lives they led were not nearly as fulfilling or satisfying as they used to be. She wondered if Jim felt the same.

**Notes for The Broken Road:**

I need to thank my editors again for helping me out with the last story in The Breakaway Trilogy. I have absolutely terrific editors who make the writing experience so much easier and more meaningful! Lots of thanks need to go to my sister, Pam and Joyce for all their help. I'm also adding in a few more editors and feedbackers, too. Lots of more thanks need to go to CountryGirl, Grandma Cindy, Heidi01, Jo and Rosamund. Ladies, you are all the absolute best! Thank you very much for your help with editing and also with the continuity of the story. Simply put, you all make everything better. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. All mistakes belong completely to me!

I hope you enjoy reading the concluding story. _Breakaway_ and _Separate Lives_ have both led up to this one. Please note that I've made up the hotel that Trixie stays at in Las Vegas. Any resemblance to any actual hotel, either in name or in description, is completely coincidental!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Two

The picture staring back at him was destined to drive him crazy. Jim figured if he stared at it any longer they were going to need to institutionalize him, the sooner the better. He pulled his laptop closer, set it on his lap, and studied her, completely ignoring his likeness in the process. The overhead lighting of the reception hall made her dress shine with a luminosity that begged him to touch. Of course, he couldn't resist and trailed a finger along the edge of the golden dress that served as fodder for many a delicious, decadent, and completely unfulfilled dream. It wasn't only the dress that drew his attention. It only scratched the figurative tip of the iceberg. Emerald eyes narrowed in on each part that made up the whole of her. The spiraling curls. The deep sapphire blue of her eyes. The slight rosy blush to her cheeks. Oh, and then there was the fact that her face was completely vulnerable and open to him, something he hadn't experienced in countless, dreary years. The photographer had captured an absolutely amazing shot, one that wasn't only mocking him. It was haunting him. He saw it every time he closed his eyes.

"God," he grumbled, completely ignoring the contract on his large and immaculate desk. Dropping his head in his hands, he wondered if his sister was trying to make him go insane. If she was, she was more than succeeding. She was the one who thoughtfully emailed the picture to him two days ago, after all. And she managed to add in her quick little hastily typed note that she had sent the exact same set to Trixie, too. Trixie.

He lifted his head, scrubbed a hand over his face. His frown deepened as he muttered, "I wonder what she thinks about the picture." The silver cell phone beckoned to him, from its place at the front of his desk, but there was no way he was going to pick it up and question her about the picture. No way in hell. The phone conversations they'd managed to have since the wedding were polite and friendly. However, neither of them tried to insert anything heavy or extremely personal into it. Light and easy were their favored tones of communication.

Knowing it was useless to pretend to focus on work, realizing he could do more harm than good right now with the mess his mind was in, Jim pushed back his chair and stomped his way over towards the lone window in his small office. The late afternoon traffic, especially on a Friday afternoon, was bustling more than usual. People were in a hurry to put their work week behind them and start their plans for the glory that was the weekend. Slapping his hands on his hips, he knew it was going to be a weekend like all others for him. He had no plans to join the mass exodus from the city. Since the construction on his house was severely off-schedule, it wouldn't serve any purpose to visit Sleepyside in hopes of speeding things along. Instead, he planned on spending the time in the city, working. He supposed he could work a trip into the gym but, other than that, he would split the time between the office and his apartment.

When the scene below no longer interested him, he strode back to his desk and picked up the contract, ready to give it another run-through to search out any possible loopholes or weak links. Lost in the read, he absently nodded at the administrative assistant who offered him a note from an important business associate and dropped the contract in favor of contacting the associate. Resolutely, he started dialing the number, ready to offer his assistance. His low murmured voice filling the room while he made contact and began patiently answering a list of complicated questions…ones he remembered answering three days ago. Only the slight roll of his eyes gave away his impatience with the caller.

Out in the hallway, Honey smiled as the assistant walked past and took the five necessary steps to reach Jim's office. A greeting on her lips, she peered into the office and swiftly shut her mouth. So intent on his phone call, Jim wasn't aware that he had an interested audience. Putting the unexpected time to good use, she studied him through slitted eyes, missing absolutely nothing. He who adored the outdoors did not have much of a tan. Odd, since it was already mid-June. It bothered her and served as proof that he was spending way too much time inside and not enough outside. She zeroed in on his face next. His eyes were shadowed in smudges of purply violet, a sign that he wasn't sleeping well or much at all. There wasn't a smile to be found on his face. Even his voice sounded tired, maybe even strained. Serious lines of discontent settled on her forehead. He hardly resembled the brother she knew at all. When her mother approached, she gestured towards the room and murmured, the hazel in her eyes awash in concern, "Look at him, Mother. He looks terrible. He's got to be working way too hard."

Madeleine didn't need to look. She knew what her son looked like. She gave a small, ladylike sigh. "You're right. You are absolutely right." When Jim started to lift his head, she quickly grabbed Honey and tugged her away from the doorway, pulling her out of the line of his sight. Safely within the confines of the deserted hallway, she whispered hurriedly, "Your father and I have been talking about your brother a lot recently. He's worrying both of us. He needs to slow down. There's just one problem. We simply cannot figure out a way to make him slow down." Her sigh this time was much deeper. Even Matthew, the poster boy for workaholics everywhere, couldn't take it even more.

Honey followed her mother's lead and pressed herself up against the wall, in-between two beautiful black and white photographs of landmarks in the city. Her worry grew when she realized her father was concerned about Jim, too. Although she already knew the answer, she voiced the question anyway. "Has he had a break since the week off he took for my wedding?"

"No. Not really. In fact, I don't think he's taken off many weekends, either. He's always one of the first to arrive and is generally the last one to leave. He holes himself up in his office, doing who only knows what, and has refused every single offer your father and I've made to him." She lifted a slim shoulder and let it fall down again, an almost helpless motion. Burying himself in work was not the correct one. It was definitely not working; at least, not like it had before. The solution he needed was beyond obvious. Short of hog-tying him and forcing him on a plane to San Diego, which she was certain he would fight every step of the way, there weren't any other options. "Your father is having a hard time coming up with other projects for him. Jim finishes each one almost overnight, no matter how simple or complicated it is. His overzealous efficiency is driving Matthew crazy. When Matthew doesn't have anything extra for Jim to do, he makes it up himself." Frustrated, she stared up at the ceiling, hoping to find the answer in the ceiling tiles above. Not surprisingly, nothing new came her way.

"Unfortunately, that sounds just like Jim." Honey tapped a perfectly manicured finger against her chin, puzzling it out. Without too much effort, she came to the same conclusion her mother had come to almost a month ago. "If only there was some way we could get him and Trixie together…"she mused aloud, tapping a finger against the wall. Like her mother, no scenarios jumped out of the gleaming woodwork to present themselves. She was left with nothing but her worry.

Madeleine gave a dainty shake of her head. "I'm with you there. And so is your father. But unless Trixie suddenly decides to materialize in New York, we are out of luck." The thought gave her hope. Intrigued, she whirled on Honey. "Trixie doesn't have any plans to return home anytime soon, does she? If she did, that could be the catalyst to solving Jim's problem."

"I talked to her on Wednesday. No, she doesn't," Honey replied regretfully, hating to shoot down her mother's lone ray of hope. "In fact, she doesn't have any plans for a trip to Sleepyside anytime soon. I sincerely doubt if she'll be able to make it to the baby shower for Di that we're holding at the end of July. I didn't bring it up to her because I didn't want to make her feel bad."

"So there won't be a resolution on that end anytime soon," Madeleine murmured into the air, her frustrations growing. If only they could push the two of them together…After the scene she had witnessed in her house, right after the reception, she knew that a prolonged amount of time in each other's company would seriously help the two out. It may even mend the broken road their relationship had turned into. She started chewing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit of hers. Her recently applied expensive lipstick held firm. "Jim was never that social to begin with but, since your wedding, he's been more antisocial than normal."

"He's been more antisocial because of what happened between him and Trixie in the hallway at the Manor House," Honey put in.

"You're exactly right," Madeleine agreed with a regal nod of her head, trying not to dwell on what the two of them had wanted to do that particular evening and would have, if not for her abysmal sense of timing. Daintily clearing her throat, she continued, "He seems determined to keep to himself right now. I've been wracking my brain in an attempt to help get him interested and active in something. However, the only answer I can ever come up with is Trixie."

"I know. She's my answer, too. Stupid, stubborn idiots," she grumbled under her breath, frustrated with both of them. "Like I said, Trixie won't be home anytime soon. She told me the other day that she's starting a new assignment soon. We can never predict what's going to happen with her schedule. I do know that she'll do just about anything to be home for the arrival of the newest Belden in a few months." There wasn't any way that Trixie would miss the birth of her little niece. Honey would bet her house on it.

"It's June, Honey. June. Baby Belden isn't scheduled to arrive until October." Madeleine put an aristocratic hand on her hip. "I don't think Jim will be able to carry on this horrible pace of his for much longer."

"Well, if we can't get him and Trixie together, we'll have to settle for the next best thing." Honey leaned closer as an idea began to take shape. It wouldn't solve the major issue but it could help her brother out. Maybe. The more the thought grew, the more she liked it. "Yes. It could definitely work."

"What could work, darling?" Madeleine turned a penetrating stare on her daughter.

Honey nearly jumped up and down in her excitement. An employee chose that moment to meander down the hallway. She tamed the urge. Barely. Grabbing her mother's elbow, she said excitedly, "A vacation, Mother! He needs a vacation. Somewhere fun, somewhere where he may actually be able to enjoy himself, somewhere where he won't be able to work. Somewhere away from here."

Madeleine was quiet for a long minute, mulling the idea over in her mind. It grew and grew and then she started to add her own little spin to it. Her eyes began to gleam with pleasure. "Madeleine Belden!" she exclaimed, her voice a little awed at how perfect and how easy it could all be arranged. "Your idea is fantastic. Absolutely, positively fantastic."

"Thank you," Honey said humbly and inclined her head regally.

"I have it. I know exactly what we can do." She grabbed her daughter's hands and held them tightly. "Thank you, dear."

Before Honey could question her mother, Jim threw back his door, a file folder in his hand, and stepped out into the hallway. He came to an immediate halt, surprised by their presence. He hadn't expected to see anyone standing outside of his office, let alone his mother or his sister. It was late in the workday. Most of the employees had already left or were in the process of leaving. "Honey, Mom," he murmured, staring at them in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Really, dear, is that any way to greet your family?" Madeleine chastised gently, pinning a maternal, easy smile on her face. She whispered hurriedly under her breath to Honey, ignoring the flush that stained Jim's cheeks and his muttered apology, "Follow my lead, dear. I know exactly what needs to be done." When Honey only gaped back at her in obvious befuddlement, Madeleine gave her a reassuring smile. Louder, she turned back to her son and announced for his ears, "Our luncheon is over."

"How did it go?" He stepped back into his office, held the door open, and, since he didn't have a choice, motioned for the females in his life to come inside. He had forgotten about the luncheon.

"Oh, it was wonderful, Jim! We earned a lot of money for the American Red Cross," Honey answered enthusiastically, giving her brother a quick hug. Tucking a strand of hair that escaped her intricate French braid, she added, "I had a terrific time today. So did Mother and Father. We missed you, though. You really should have been there."

It was hard to overlook the slight reproach in her voice. "I'm sorry I missed it," he mumbled, the red flush returning with a vengeance. But really he wasn't sorry in the least. The last thing he wanted to do was attend any kind of a society function, no matter how well-intentioned.

"You're not sorry at all!" Madeleine accused him with a light, tinkling laugh. She pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, wiped off the hint of dark pink lipstick left behind and closed the door behind her with a soft click. She didn't want anyone to interrupt their impromptu meeting, especially when she finally had a good idea about solving part of her son's issues.

"True." Spending the afternoon at a society function, no matter how well-intentioned, rated right up there with spending an entire week at a boring business convention with no chance of escape. A wry grin tugged at his lips, the first hint of amusement he'd experienced in too long to remember. "What are you two doing here?"

"We are waiting on Daddy before we leave for Sleepyside. He's checking on a few things with his personal assistant before he's through for the day. What about you?" Honey gazed around the office. Always neat to begin with, she was astonished to see that there was absolutely nothing in his in-box that needed completed. Nothing. In fact, there was nothing else on his desk except for his laptop and writing utensils. It was worse than she thought. If he was this efficient, he must be working seventy-eighty hours a week. She covered her shocked gasp with a small cough.

"I have a few things to finish up." After dropping the folder down on top of his too-tidy desk, Jim edged a hip on it and called up the energy to smile. He'd die before he would admit how bone-tired and weary he was. There was absolutely no way he was going to give in and actually head back to his empty apartment on time. When he did, he only had his thoughts to keep him company. Those thoughts tended to revolve around a particular beautiful blonde. He insisted with more force than he needed, "I've got a few more hours left."

"On a Friday?" Madeleine disguised her worry with a small laugh. He couldn't have anything left to do, she thought with a small humph. Impulsively, she grabbed his arm and suggested, her eyes pleading with him to say yes, "Come home with us, Jim. The three of us are driving back to Sleepyside together. Tom will drive your father and I back on Monday morning. Why don't you join us? We could have a relaxing weekend at home. It would be wonderful."

"Not this weekend," Jim replied immediately. He didn't want to spend the weekend with his family looking at him the way they were doing now. Above all else, he hated it when the females in his life ganged up on him. He wasn't going to subject himself to it for an entire weekend. Motioning to his desk, he insisted, "I have a few pressing issues to take care of."

"I can see that," Honey remarked dryly, one eyebrow arched high. Her hazel gaze swept over his extremely orderly desk and she allowed herself to dwell in a well of sarcasm. "There is obviously so much left for you to do. I doubt if your desk could hold up any more paperwork." She picked up the lone folder and waved it.

"Ignore your sister, Jim, and take care of those pressing issues, dear," Madeleine said, giving in a little too gracefully and frowning at her daughter. The frown was one hundred percent for Jim's benefit. She wanted him unsuspecting when she struck. Turning back to Jim, she offered cheerfully, "I wish you all the luck in the world with your work. Contact associates, review contracts, create contracts, do whatever it is that needs to be done to help W&H out. Sleepyside will still be there the next time you want to come visit. It's not going anywhere."

"Thanks, Mom." Never an idiot, Jim drew back and studied them, really studied them, for the first time. Suddenly he was worried. His mother was batting her eyes at him, a smooth expression on her face, and smiling way too brightly. Honey looked like she was ready to say something else but, when his mother none-too-gently stepped on her foot, she obviously decided not to. Oh, there was definitely something in the air. His senses went straight to red-alert. One thing was certain. He wasn't going to get out of this one unscathed.

When neither Madeleine or Honey made a move to speak, only stared back at him with their wide, blinking eyes, he straightened and made himself as tall as he could, his only defense. "All right," he said, employing the same tone a parent would use to deal with an unruly child. "What is going on here?"

Madeleine fluttered her hands in a sign of apparent helplessness. The steel in her eyes contradicted it. "I guess we can't fool you, can we, Honey?" She nudged her daughter when Honey tilted her head in confusion.

"No, I guess not," Honey answered, shooting an inquisitive look at her mother, unsure where she was going with this, and barely resisted the desire to blow out a long, frustrated breath. She was as in the dark as Jim was and wished she knew what her mother was going to suggest.

"I'm all ears," he remarked with the barest trace of sarcasm. He hadn't missed the signs of Honey's confusion and correctly figured his mother was the ring-leader. His sister was merely her subordinate this time around.

"As I was saying earlier, I think it is a wonderful idea for you to take care of all those pressing issues," Madeleine began sweetly…much too sweetly. She gave him a gentle tap on the head. "Absolutely, positively wonderful. I admire that quality about you. You never let any grass grow under your feet, do you, darling? Your father appreciates it, too. It's one of the main reasons why he would be extremely comfortable leaving W&H, International in your capable hands should he ever give in to the desire to retire."

A picture of a trap springing shut formed brilliantly in his mind. Treading carefully, he agreed slowly, willing away a throb of an ache right behind his left temple. Whatever his mother was going to suggest wasn't going to be something he liked. "Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it."

She waved a dismissive hand, delighted with the role she was playing. "It's true, Jim. All of it. You always take care of your responsibilities. Sometimes you even take care of responsibilities that the rest of us may not have even realized were yours. That's how conscientious you are." Or how much in need of a distraction he was. Madeleine chose not to bring up the whole truth. Instead, she caught Honey's hand and swung it lightly, bringing her partner into the conversation. "Isn't that right, Honey?"

"Definitely," Honey chimed in, wondering where her mother was leading them and pinned a brilliant smile on her face. "Why, not more than ten minutes ago we were out in the hallway, saying how responsible, dependable and reliable Jim is. Why, he has to be one of the most dedicated employees here! Why,…" She stopped her rambling halt after her mother nudged her gently with her elbow and blushed a becoming pink.

Now Jim was beyond worried. He aimed a killer frown at his sister, wondering what the two of them could possibly be cooking up for him. Wanting to get it over with, he inquired, "What aren't you telling, Mom? I can tell by that little gleam in your eyes something is going on."

She threw back her head and laughed. The sound should have been infectious. Instead, it made the hackles on the back of his neck rise. "I can't fool your brother, can I, Honey?"

More than willing to play second fiddle, Honey nodded her head obediently. "He's too smart for us, Mother. Why don't you let him stop wiggling and tell him exactly what you have in mind for him?" She kept the inner thought that she wouldn't mind being clued in to her mother's plans to herself.

"I'll be delighted to." Madeleine began tapping a low-heeled shoe against the carpet. "The idea came to me a few minutes ago, Jim, so you'll have to forgive me if it takes me awhile to explain it. I'm simply tickled pink by it, though. I know you're going to be, too."

Somehow, he doubted if he would be 'tickled pink' by any idea of his mother's right now, especially when she was looking at him the way a cobra may watch its prey before striking. She was simply too pleased with herself…and that didn't bode well for him. Not in the least. "I'm all ears," he replied with a sarcastic lift of an eyebrow.

"It started when I met a good friend of mine from college at the luncheon today. You remember, Honey? Mrs. Cecelia Sinclair?" She whirled around to address Honey and explained further, pretending that Jim wasn't in the room. "She was the one wearing that beautiful red Valentino dress with artistic white splotches splattered across it. It was gorgeous. She even had matching heels and a purse, too." She looked expectantly at her daughter, waiting for corroboration.

"Right. You talked to her for a long time." It seemed like the appropriate thing to say although Honey couldn't recall anything of importance from Mrs. Sinclair or her mother at the luncheon. To the best of her recollection they greeted each other warmly, offered each other a few pleasantries, and then went their separate ways. She honestly couldn't recollect any significant amount of time they spent together at the luncheon.

"She shared with me how she's considering investing in a restaurant chain that's been extremely popular out West over the past couple of years. She's always looking for a new hobby. Last year she invested in a spa in upstate New York. It's done remarkably well. Now she'd like to expand her horizons this year and try her hand at something else. The restaurant chain has piqued her interest." She turned back around, winking broadly at Jim.

Suspicions were promising to smother him. How an old school friend of his mother's, a restaurant chain out West, and a new potential investment could possibly be connected with him, he couldn't possibly begin to fathom. There was simply no desire to know. Since he couldn't do anything else, he waited for his mother to continue. When she didn't, he did the polite thing and dredged up a question although he had no interest in it at all. "She's interested in restaurants?" he inquired neutrally when Madeleine didn't seem to be inclined to continue without some kind of acknowledgement from him.

"Yes! She is! I knew you would understand!" Madeleine rubbed her hands together, a large, pleased smile wreathing her face. She leaned forward, laid an aristocratic hand on his forearm, and began speaking excitedly. "You see, Jim, she needs some help and I recently decided that you are just the one to help her."

"How?" Honey inclined her head to the side curiously. She couldn't come up with any logical explanation about how Jim helping Cecelia Sinclair would help solve his workaholic issues. "How could Jim help her out?"

"Oh, Honey! It's so simple." Absolutely in her element, Madeleine squeezed Jim's forearm and released a laugh that mirrored the wind chimes on Honey's porch for musicality. "She wants a firsthand account of the restaurant from a customer's perspective, just like the seven of you did for Matthew when you vacationed at Mead's Mountain all those years ago. She has to trust this customer's report, of course." She turned on Jim, victory practically emanating from every pore. He wasn't going to say no. She wouldn't allow it. "I've just decided that you would be the perfect customer!"

Oh, hell. His suspicions were right. He definitely didn't like where she was leading him. "You're going to have to be specific," Jim said after a long, tense moment. He slowly and carefully drew out his words so she couldn't possibly misunderstand him. "You said that the restaurants are out West. I'm planted firmly here, on the East Coast. Unless she wants me to do some financial analysis or research for her, I don't think I'm going to be of much help." He hoped. How he hoped.

"Oh, pish!" Madeleine batted away his words like she would an irritating fly. "Nothing to worry about. You leave it to me, Jim. All you'll have to do is concentrate on getting your work done before you leave for your vacation. I'll have all the details taken care of, quicker than you can say, Viva Las Vegas!"

"Vegas?" squeaked out of Honey's mouth, her eyes bulging with surprise. "As in, Nevada?"

Madeleine gave an enthusiastic nod of her head. She didn't miss the scowl that settled on her son's face or the fact that Honey's mouth was hanging open. Ignoring Jim, she patted her daughter's head. "Honey, Las Vegas is the home of the very first restaurant Cecelia would like to invest in. Jim here can take a much needed vacation, patronize the restaurant on a few occasions to help out a dear friend of his mother's, and return back to New York with a full report a week later. He'll also have the added benefit of vacationing in the entertainment capital of the world. He's going to have the best time."

Jim opened his mouth, ready to denounce the idea, when his mother twirled back around. With happiness radiating off of her in waves, he couldn't find it within him to tell her no. He simply couldn't. And that was her ace in the hole. Damning himself, he repeated weakly, "Vegas?"

"Thank you, dear." Madeleine squeezed his shoulder, her smile blinding and a satisfied glint to her eyes. "I know Cecelia will appreciate your effort. She'll trust your judgment. Thank you very much for volunteering to do this. You will volunteer, won't you?" Because she knew he didn't stand a chance, she blinked at him. Three times.

Jim could only stare at his beaming, blinking mother, aghast at how swiftly and cleanly she had backed him into the corner. Even with his premonitions of something bad happening, he hadn't been able to prevent it. "I…well…okay," he finally managed to get out past the confusing haze surrounding his mind. "I guess I'm going on a vacation."

"Right you are. It's all settled." Madeleine punctuated her words with an authoritative shake of her head, inwardly relieved that he hadn't put up much of a fight. "You can check out the restaurant chain, find out if it would be a good investment for Cecelia, and also get a small vacation in at the same time, too. To borrow a phrase of my daughter's, it is all perfectly perfect!" She clasped her hands together, pleased with her triumph.

"You get to go to Las Vegas!" Honey chirped out happily. She punched Jim lightly on the shoulder, seriously impressed with the way their mother had outplayed him. She briefly wondered if her mother ever used the same tactics on their father. If she did, she highly doubted if Matthew Wheeler ever stood a chance against Madeleine Hart Wheeler. Her mother was lethal when she was on a mission. "You'll love it, big brother. I've heard wonderful things about Sin City. You'll have a fabulous time there. Just think of all the entertainment, the casinos, the restaurants…" She released a small sigh, almost wishing that she was the one taking the vacation.

One lip curled up. Yeah. A fabulous time. He opened his mouth to take back his agreement and deny the offer but, when both his mother and Honey turned their matching hazel-colored eyes at him, he closed it with a sharp snap. There was simply no way he could tell them both no, not when they were looking at him with their identical doe eyes. He was powerless to resist. "Thanks," he muttered instead, his tone as unenthusiastic as it could get.

Madeleine tossed him a gay smile, pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, and waved farewell, more than satisfied with her work. Her workaholic son was going to have a vacation. That was all the mattered to her. "As I said before, there's no need for you to worry about any of the details, Jim. I'll take care of it. Plan on leaving sometime in the middle of next week. You can also bring your work with you if you want to. You never know. Maybe Las Vegas will be boring." Her laugh trailed behind her as she walked through the doorway.

Honey barely suppressed a giggle. Jim looked as if he had been run over by a steamroller. Following her mother's lead, she gave him a sisterly kiss on his other cheek. "Don't worry, Jim. A little break will be good for you," she murmured before stepping back.

"Thanks," he repeated in a monotone voice, obviously not looking forward to his assignment in the least.

Honey giggled again, this time nervously. She didn't want to be alone with Jim, not when he appeared to be shell-shocked. It was an expression that didn't sit well on his broad shoulders. Needing a quick escape, she started inching her way towards the door. "I'm going to catch up with Mother and Daddy. We're driving back to Sleepyside together. Tom's going to drive them back into the city on Monday morning. You've got the office all to yourself." Hating the fact that she was rambling again, she blindly reached behind her for the door and pushed it open. Taking a deep breath, she got out breathlessly, "Have a great weekend, Jim!"

He nearly grinned at the swiftness of her escape. The door closed with a loud bang behind her, leaving him blissfully alone. He stared at it for a long, telling moment before slowly sinking down into his chair. Work was the farthest thing from his mind. How his mother had managed to box him so neatly and effortlessly into a corner he couldn't get out of was beyond him. And now he was stuck. Or sunk. Or a combination of both. Either way, it didn't matter. He was going away in the middle of next week. "Great. A vacation. A working vacation. A working vacation in Las Vegas," he grumbled disconsolately under his breath, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Needing a distraction, he woke up his sleeping computer and called up the emails again. He didn't waste a second in flipping through until the last picture was on the screen. Even though he didn't need to, he stared at it, memorizing every nuance of the face he knew as well as his own, perhaps even better. The longing came; sharp, hard and undeniable. Slumping back in his chair with a small grown, he declared under his breath, "Like a vacation's really going to help."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Three

From her position at the back of the shuttle, Trixie ignored the excited chatter of the other passengers on their way to _The Victoria_, the five star hotel all of them had elected to stay in. Instead, she hid behind her overly large rhinestone-studded sunglasses and glanced at the ring on her left finger. It was real, not an imitation, and had to be the ugliest piece of jewelry she had ever had the displeasure of seeing in real life, let alone wearing. It was not to her taste at all. The diamond was easily two carats if not more, square-cut, and flanked on each side by bright red rubies. It was a necessary part of her cover and showed her to be a recently engaged woman, one who enjoyed the finer things in life even if it could possibly toss her into bankruptcy. And it could. Her carefully arranged background proved that her finances weren't in the best of shapes. Neither were her fiancé's.

Fiancé. The sudden thought made her shoot a frosty glare at the seat next to her. Empty, of course; a rather inauspicious start to the mission. Max should have been filling it, just as he should have been sitting next to her on the plane for the flight from San Diego to Las Vegas. However, he was not. Earlier that morning, neither Jocelyn nor Max had shown up at her house, as per their original plan. Heidi was the only one who arrived early in the morning to give her a quick makeover before her flight, as well as present her with her luggage and that god-awful, garish and gaudy ring. Here it was, hours later, and she still didn't have a clue where her partner was. He hadn't returned any of her numerous phone calls or texts. It was almost as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth. She'd kept in contact with Heidi throughout the day but she hadn't heard from the missing two either. Since she'd been taught from the very beginning that all missions must continue, no matter what, she made the reluctant decision to complete the flight without him. Now she was in Las Vegas and well on her way into enemy territory, without her partner by her side. She risked one glance to the front of the shuttle and caught the back of a familiar head. At least part of her back-up team was present and accounted for, she thought with an inward sigh and curled a hand around the strap of her purse. The rest of their team should already be in position at the hotel.

Almost as if her thoughts conjured it up, her cell started vibrating. Since it was the only bright pink item in her purse, it wasn't too hard to find. She pulled it out with a triumphant smile and quickly called up her latest text message. It was from Max. Delighted to hear from him, she read silently, "Everything's great. About to board my plane. Will fill you in later. Hold down the fort 'til I get there. See you in a few." Thankful that he was okay and on his way, her agitation dissipated into the comfortable controlled air, only to be replaced with her overwhelming curiosity behind his tardiness. She tamped down on it as best she could and typed back a quick response. At least he was on his way. She could handle being alone in the hotel for the next few hours. After all, she reasoned inwardly, what on earth could possibly happen in such a short span of time?

She closed her new cell phone with a smart click. The bright pink of the device looked odd in her tanned hand. Trixie barely smothered a groan at it. Heidi had offered it to her with a cheeky grin and laughingly told Trixie that her normal black cell didn't fit the personality of her alter-ego for the upcoming week. Heidi had insisted with a rollicking laugh that Beatrix Johnson wouldn't be caught dead with such a plain and undistinguished one. "Not only do I get stuck with pink but it's practically fluorescent," she grumbled and slipped the small offending piece of advanced technology back into her purse. She shuddered at the thought of the clothes awaiting her in the two suitcases. If they were anything like her traveling outfit of a bright red tank top over a pair of tight black Capri's, she figured she would just absolutely adore the rest. Already, with Max unexpected tardiness and a wardrobe that belonged in the red light district, the mission was shaping up to be one she would much rather forget.

When the shuttle came to a gentle stop, Trixie waited in her seat until the rest of the patrons exited it, their excited chatter filling the air. Quietly, she walked to the front of the vehicle and walked down the steps with deliberate care, firmly believing that someone from Mr. Young's employ would be watching for her arrival. She wanted to make the best impression possible. A hand resting sharply on a shapely hip, she tilted down her sunglasses and surveyed the impressive and imposing hotel right in front of her. _The Victoria_. Its pictures hadn't done it any justice. It was big, much larger than she had anticipated. Sunlight danced off of the multitude of clear, shiny windows at the front of the hotel. In the daytime it wasn't as bright and shiny as it would appear with the intriguing backdrop of the night. A large and spectacular fountain sat dead center in the courtyard, providing an unforgettable greeting for its guests. The fluid motion of the water was meant to be soothing, and it was. Iron benches encircled it, inviting anyone to sit and simply watch the gorgeous sight, while statues of gods and goddesses were placed discretely around it.

Right now she didn't wish to stay outside and while away a few minutes, not with the oppressive heat of the day surrounding and practically suffocating her, a shocking contrast to the comfortable atmosphere within the shuttle that brought her to the luxurious hotel. All she wanted to do was get inside to enjoy the promise of the cooler central air within. When a guest jostled her from behind, she aimed a practiced and annoyed look his way and started forward, moving through the whooshing automatic doors, a valet trailing her with a luggage cart stuffed with suitcases of the entering guests.

She stopped again, using a few precious seconds to take in everything about the lobby before she needed to check in. Unsurprisingly, it rivaled the outside in elegance. The ceiling seemed to be sky high. Chandeliers dangled from above, matching and mating with the natural light provided from the many windows. The floor was done in pure polished marble until it reached the hallways. Then it turned into thick, lavish and a deep, dark red carpeting. To the left was the reception area. To the right was a hallway. Signs pointed in different directions, letting their customers find their way to the award winning spa, the many different restaurants and bars/lounges housed underneath its roof, as well as the casino, the indoor and outdoor pools, the gym, any of the four theaters that held an impressive assortment of entertainment opportunities, and other amenities offered by the hotel.

No one staring at her would have known how much one long sweeping glance behind the shaded sunglasses took in the entire terrain and committed it all completely and flawlessly to memory. "Time to begin, Miss Johnson," she told herself firmly, allowing a small grin to curve her lips as she sashayed towards the front desk, her steps slow and deliberate, her hips much more prominent than her normal sway, and ignored the more than interested looks coming her way from a few men in the lobby.

"May I help you?" An impeccably dressed hotel employee replaced the phone in its cradle and looked up expectantly as the curly-haired blonde leaned against the counter of the front desk.

Trixie didn't take off her sunglasses. "Beatrix Johnson," she answered louder than necessary in case any of the people milling about were waiting on her and affected a bored expression, not attempting to bring the woman into any type of polite conversation. A long, brightly painted red fingernail, courtesy of Heidi's quick and efficient makeover of the morning, rapped out an impatient tattoo against the smooth marble countertop. The hotel employee efficiently flicked through her computer, found the reservation, and handed over the room card key without hesitation, already deciding that their newest arrival was like many of the others who waltzed through their automatic doors. In her mind, a dime a dozen, from the tip of her overly hair sprayed hair to the bottom of her pencil thin heels. More than aware that her appearance spoke volumes about her, and more than willing to play the role assigned to her, Trixie accepted the key card with the tiniest of smiles and read the number on it. Room 448.

"I have something else for you, Miss Johnson." The employee offered a sealed note over to Trixie and turned away to answer a ringing telephone, the customer already forgotten from her mind.

Trixie accepted the note and tucked the envelope into her faux red leather purse. While the impatient part of her wanted to rip into the envelope right then and there, it would be much better to read it in the privacy of her room, away from the possibility of any prying eyes. Satisfied with her entrance, wondering which of the people loitering about in the lobby would report it back to their boss, she leisurely strolled down the long hall towards the elevators and pressed the up button. A quick glance to the side showed her that two more agents had joined her back-up team, which gave her three people on her side right now. Their presence made her eyes light up with amusement. At least she wasn't completely alone. She swiped a finger over her left eyebrow, a sign to let them know she saw them and all was fine, and moved into the elevator. When an older couple joined her, she sidestepped to the corner and went against her basic friendly nature. Again, she purposefully averted her eyes, not wanting to engage anyone in a conversation, and checked her cell to see if she had any messages. None. Without acknowledging the couple's presence, she left the elevator the second it opened on her floor and walked slowly down the carpeted hallway, finally stopping by her room number.

Once the door closed behind her, she pulled out her cell which was much more than a mere phone. After pushing a button that wasn't on a normal acting model, she watched the little marvel do its work in a manner of seconds. No electronic bugs or video cams of any kind were placed in her room. The knowledge brought an odd sort of a sparkle to her eyes.

After the necessary scan was taken care of, she let herself visually examine the room. For the least expensive room available in the luxurious hotel, it was definitely a nice room. She doubted with its solid reputation if _The Victoria_ offered anything but nice. It contained double beds, a requirement for the trip since there was no way in hell either she or Max would share a bed even if they were stuck sharing a room together as part of their ruse as a happily engaged couple. A large closet, an attached full bath, a nice sized television set, as well as a mini-fridge, an economy sized microwave, and an automatic coffee maker completed the kitchenette portion of the room. She ran a finger along the edge of the small hotel safe, already well aware of the fact she wouldn't put anything of extreme importance into it. Much too easy to break into one of them. She would only put in things she wanted someone else to see, she thought with a smug grin.

The luggage patiently waiting by the side of one of the double beds in the room brought her perusal up short. Blowing out an aggrieved breath, she ignored her suitcases, having no desire at all to go through them or hang up the horrendous clothes residing inside. Instead, she walked over to the window and drew back the mauve-colored curtain. Las Vegas stretched out before her in all of its glorious grandeur. Any other time she would have been excited to be here, to treat it as a fun adventure. But not when she was here to do a job and certainly not when she was without Max.

After completing her survey of the outside area, Trixie let the curtain fall and dropped down onto her bed. Carefully, she examined the envelope. The logo for _The Victoria_ stared back at her, royal purple written in a fancy flourish of a script. She traced her fingers over the hand-written Beatrix Johnson, a satisfied smile momentarily playing across her lips. She had to hand it to Mr. Young. He wasn't wasting any time. Eagerly, she tore the envelope open. A small note fluttered out, written in a very clean and precise handwriting.

_Welcome to Vegas, Miss Johnson. Enjoy your stay._

_Someone will contact you when you come down to The Crown Vic._

There was no closing, no ending, no signature. None was needed. She knew who it was from and what was expected of her. "Not too bad," she mumbled to herself, reading the words again. "I've only been here for a few minutes and contact's already been made." Reading between the lines, she came to the conclusion that Mr. Young must be very interested in the information she wanted to peddle to him. Thinking of it, Trixie dropped the contents of her purse on the bed. A zebra-striped clutch purse, in vivid purple and black no less, carried her new and entirely false identification, fell out. Her favored gun, painted over with a special substance created specifically for the CDA that wouldn't allow it be picked up by any security system, no matter how good, came to rest unobtrusively on a pillow. A small digital camera fell on top of her plane ticket. And, most importantly of all, a cosmetics case, for touch-ups and emergencies, landed with a small thump. Ignoring the rest, she grabbed it and opened it up. One of her long fingernails carefully pried the edge away from the metal container. Nestled underneath was the small disc, exactly where she had put it that morning, and where it would stay until the deal was ready to be made. Trixie traced the disc and swiftly put the case back together.

Because she realized her room would be searched at some point, and quite thoroughly, Trixie carried her clutch purse over to the safe. She slipped it inside, along with her plane tickets and the small digital camera, and locked it, chuckling the entire time. "There's nothing like making it easy for the enemy," she said, blue eyes glinting with humor. The safe would be the first place any lackey of Mr. Young's would search. Everything inside would prove, hopefully beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was exactly who she was pretending to be. She whirled back around and quietly stuffed her gun into the lining of her purse where it wouldn't be visible to the naked eye. The cosmetics case was next. She wasn't going to part with either of them during her stay in Las Vegas.

Putting it off as long as she could, Trixie walked over to her suitcases and chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating the offending luggage. So far, she hadn't been able to call up the courage to look inside. "It can't be that bad. It can't be that bad. Truly, it can't be that bad," she repeated again, squeezing her eyes shut while nervous fingers unzipped the first suitcase. Desperately she hoped to believe her words. But it was not to be.

She who had faced down countless bad guys and gals, she who had outrun, outwitted, and outplayed some of the most dangerous criminals in the entire world, cringed at the wardrobe splayed out before her astonished eyes. Worse, it was only the tip of the iceberg. There were still clothes underneath the top layer, as well as a whole other suitcase to search through. "Oh, dear God," she said, taking a step back and gingerly lifting out a sparkly silver…top? She hoped it was a top. If it was a dress, wearing it could be termed illegal, even by the more lax standards of Las Vegas. It fell from her fingers, to land on a skirt of the same material. Obviously a matched set.

She wasted no time in tossing aside a deep purple, form-fitting, hip-hugging dress, practically growled at a matching lime green and purple paisley shirt and shorts combination set that would have made any self-respecting Barbie doll grimace in disgust, and scowled down at the remaining contents. "It's not going to get any better. In fact, I think it's only getting worse," she admitted. Gritting her teeth, she went for broke and blindly reached in. A coral dress came out. Since it looked a little more modest than the other clothes she had had the pleasure of viewing so far, she decided it would have to do and threw it carelessly on the chair. A pair of skimpy, strappy heels landed on top of it.

The happy tweet of her cell stopped her from having to try them on, at least for the moment. Thankful for the distraction, she dove across the bed and picked up her phone. "Hello?" she said, expecting it to be Max's baritone on the other end.

"Hey, Hollywood," a deep and welcome voice answered back, one who most definitely did not belong to her partner.

"Dan!" Trixie squealed excitedly, momentarily forgetting that she had a job to do. She kicked off her heels and tucked her aching feet underneath her body, making herself comfortable on the bed and completely willing to allow herself a few moments of private time. After all, she reasoned with a philosophic shrug, she deserved it. It wasn't too often that she had a chance to speak with Dan. She wasn't going to let one slide by because there was no telling when the next chance would come. Feeling a bit indulgent, she settled against the thick pillows and allowed herself to relax. "It's good to hear your voice."

"I know what you mean." He chuckled wryly and walked over to his refrigerator. Slim pickings, at best. As usual, it was almost empty. A Styrofoam container of leftover spaghetti and meatballs, his dinner from two nights ago, along with half a carton of very questionable milk, and two bottles of beer made up the entirety of its contents. Going with a beer and nothing else, he closed the door and used the edge of the counter to help undo the top. "We've been relying on texts too much recently, Belden."

"Tell me about it." She let out a small giggle, relieved to be able to be herself for a few minutes, and absently traced the pattern on the thick comforter. "But I'd rather hear about you. Have things been busy for you lately?"

"Always." Dan swallowed back a sigh and wondered how long he'd be able to keep up the rigorous pace required of his job. He scrubbed a hand over his tired face. Somehow, he had managed to actually get two days off…in a row. Almost unheard of. He didn't plan on doing much but eat and sleep during the next forty-eight…a quick glance at the clock made him amend it to the next forty-one hours. Because he didn't want to answer any more questions, especially when it was Trixie on the other end of the line, he quickly assumed the role of inquisitor. "What about you? Have you been busy?"

"Always," she repeated, holding onto a small chuckle. Not anyone's fool, she recognized the tactic immediately. After all, it was one she employed whenever necessary. "In fact, I'm just at the beginning stages of my newest assignment. I won't be able to stay on the phone for too much longer, Dan. Sorry about that. I have an appointment downstairs that I simply can't put off."

"No problem, Trix. We have a few minutes before you have to go, right?" He fell back onto his worn dark brown recliner and didn't waste a second before propping it back. He swore his legs actually sighed in appreciation at the immediate relaxation and had to amend his earlier plans. He was going to spend his two days off in his chair. No doubt about it. They were going to have to lift him out of it with a crowbar.

"It'll be tough but I think I can spare a minute or two more for you." She grinned into the phone, ready for his sarcastic comeback.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate it," Dan replied dryly. Dark eyes slitted closed and he melted into the comfortable cushions of his favorite chair. "Can you tell me where you are?"

Her infectious laugh carried over the cellular lines, making him find the energy to chuckle in response. "Sorry, Mangan. That information is classified," she shot back as soon as the laughing subsided.

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying," Dan countered, running a hand over his head. He was amazed to feel how long his hair was and absently wondered when the last time he got his hair cut. Too long ago was the only answer, probably right before Honey and Brian's wedding. Maybe he should actually go out and get one tomorrow, he thought and lifted the bottle to his lips. The first swallow of alcohol made him sigh with pleasure. It felt that damn good. The second one was even better. "So, I've been putting my time off to good use today. I've been burning up the phone lines between NYC and Sleepyside. You're the last one on my list to talk to."

"Nice to know where I rate with you," Trixie remarked sarcastically. She attempted to twirl a curl around her finger but stopped. The amount of hairspray Heidi had applied early that morning wouldn't allow for any such movement. Her hair felt unnatural. She doubted if the winds of a severe hurricane or tornado would make it budge and had to settle for crunching the curl instead. "I'm dead last, huh?"

"Hey, Trix. There's no need to get upset. You should know by now that I always save the best for last," Dan replied with a conceited grin and a longer sip of his beer.

She could actually visualize the look on his face and let out a small unladylike snort. "Yeah, yeah. Try again, Dan. Flattery like that doesn't work on me, you know. Save it for your legions of women."

Legions of women, indeed. He brushed aside the mocking joke, having absolutely no recollection of when he had the time to pursue a single woman, let alone a whole battalion of them. He cleared his throat. "Let me bring you up-to-date on the inhabitants of Sleepyside, Trixie. Uncle Bill's doing well. Consequentially, so are the horses. Mr. Maypenny is busy taking care of the preserve. I didn't get a chance to talk to Honey since she was at work but I actually caught Brian on a rare break. He sounded very happy because he had the afternoon off. In fact, Dr. Belden was on his way home to take a long and probably extremely needed nap so we cut our conversation short. Mart was visiting Di at the museum. I managed to get to talk to both of them at one shot. And, since I did save the very best for last…now I'm talking to you." He intentionally left out the missing Bob-White and mentally counted the seconds in his head, curious about how long it would be before Trixie asked about him.

Surprisingly, he made it to twenty before she launched a loud exasperated expulsion of breath his way. "Damn it, Dan. You did that on purpose. You forgot about Jim," she said, sticking her tongue out at him, knowing, just knowing, he did it on purpose, to make her ask about him.

"Keep that tongue of yours in your mouth," Dan ordered, chuckling again when she gasped, and mentally patted himself on the back for knowing her so well. "And I didn't leave out Jim. I left a message for him but he must have been unable to answer." He idly rubbed a fist over his dark grey T-shirt. As if he was making a polite comment about the weather, he nonchalantly shared, "He's traveling today, you know."

"No. I didn't know that." Trixie sat up and leaned forward, suddenly extremely interested in what Dan had to share with her. Jim was traveling? She cocked her head to the side, the wheels turning in her mind. Business or pleasure? "What do you mean by traveling?"

He swirled the amber liquid around in his bottle and decided to play the smart ass, a role he enjoyed playing very well. He loved making her wait. Because he knew she was about to start grinding her teeth, he went on to explain, intentionally misinterpreting her question, "Traveling, Trixie. You know, it usually involves transportation of some kind that moves a person from one destination to the next desired one. Traveling. It's very simple. That's what's Jim's doing today."

"Shut up, Mart," she ordered, eyes narrowed and a furious expression settling on her expressive face. "I don't need a definition of traveling. I know what it means."

"Mart?" he broke in, going for an affronted tone but ruining it with a hastily swallowed chuckle he couldn't quite suppress.

"Mart," she repeated, frowning into her phone. "You know him. You have the misfortune to call him your best friend and he happens to be my most annoying, aggravating, and irritating brother. Right now, you're sounding an awful lot like him. If you don't stop it, I'm going to keep calling you Mart," she warned in a stern voice.

"Ouch. That smarts. Really, it does." The only way it could get better was if she was in the same room with him and he could watch her face. She always gave the best reactions, which was coincidentally the main reason why Mart enjoyed teasing her so much. It was simply too much fun.

"Don't expect any apologies from me," she countered, keeping a few of the more unpleasant and unflattering descriptions about Dan and his penchant towards teasing to herself . When he didn't reply, she was forced to remind him, "We're talking about Jim here."

"Are we? I thought we were defining traveling," he shot back with sham innocence. Her snarl of immediate impatience made him throw up a hand. A few droplets of his favored amber liquid spilled out, sprinkling him in the process. "All right, all right. I give in since I know that patience is not anywhere close to being one of your virtues. Mart and Di told me a funny story about Honey and Mrs. Wheeler. It seems they ganged up on Jim the other day at the office and practically forced him into taking a vacation."

"Oh." Why the thought of Jim taking a vacation should make her stomach muscles tighten she didn't want to analyze. It wasn't like they were anything but tentative friends. "Why…why did they force him into a vacation?"

"I don't know." Dan shrugged a broad shoulder, all the while grinning into his bottle. God, this was turning out to be the most entertaining of all his phone calls so far. It was even better than teasing Mart about having to fight off boys with a stick when his as-yet unborn daughter became old enough to date. "Something about him working too hard or too much or something along those lines. They thought it would be a good thing for him to have some time off."

"Oh," she repeated again, feeling stupid. It didn't take too much imagination for her to call up an image of Jim working too hard. She understood the reasons behind a need for hiding behind work all too clearly. It was something she did rather successfully herself. "He's also been frustrated with the progress of his house," she added quietly after a few seconds of oddly companionable silence.

"I'm certain that had something to do with the sudden vacation, too." His cell phone began to vibrate in his hands. Dan pulled it away and glared at the incoming number. The poor inanimate object should have melted in his hands from the force of the look. Duty was calling, putting an abrupt end to his plans or lack thereof, and he, unfortunately, couldn't overlook it. "Hey, Trix. I've got to go. Remember your promise. Keep in touch," he ordered curtly, completely forgetting that he hadn't wheedled her destination out of her yet or shared Jim's with her, and started to end the call.

"Will do. I…" When the phone disconnected, she frowned down at it, bewildered. Dan usually wasn't so hasty about ending a phone call. There was also the added little bonus that he hadn't told her where Jim was going on his vacation. She almost called Dan back, simply to try and weasel the information out from him, but decided against it at the last moment. He hadn't sounded ecstatic about getting off the phone. There were other people she could call, many other people, to find out about his travel plans, and she almost did. However, it wasn't worth the humiliation. None of her friends would ever let her live it down. She let out an impatient groan and felt immensely better after cursing Dan out for disconnecting before telling her the most important piece of information, and pushed herself up off the bed.

The coral of the dress beckoned to her, reminding her why she was in Las Vegas in the first place. Grunting her disgust, she got up and picked up the article of clothing. If Dan's earlier look could have melted his cell, the one she gave her dress should have turned it into a flaming pile of ashes. "Here goes. Ready or not," she muttered under her breath and headed into the bathroom, grabbing her cosmetics case along the way to repair any damage.

Fifteen minutes later, she stalked back into the room, feeling resigned. The coral dress wasn't quite as modest as she hoped it would to be. It dipped low in the front, allowing a revealing amount of cleavage to be seen, and stopped almost alarmingly short, about halfway down her thighs. A good amount of her tanned skin was set on display. And the skin that couldn't be seen through the material was equally put out on display, due to the excessive way the dress clung to her body. "I am going to kill them," she threatened after staring at herself in the mirror for the last time. It didn't take too much imagination to see Heidi and Jocelyn laughing hysterically over her reaction to the wardrobe. "Seriously. When this is over and I get back to San Diego, they are going down."

Turning away, she started rummaging through her suitcase and pulled out a small sweater shot through with silver thread. Shuddering, she shrugged it on and felt minutely better. At least part of her body was covered up more appropriately. Satisfied that she had done the best that she could, she picked up her purse and the letter. Narrowed blue eyes skimmed the contents one more time. Only after being reminded where she was expected to make contact did she stomp over to the door. A quick check on her cell showed her that Max hadn't tried to contact her yet. "How soon is soon?" she wondered aloud and sent him a text, letting him know where she was going to be. A sway of a hip, a fluff of her hair, a carefully plastered smile, and she was through the door. The Crown Vic was waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Four

The second Jim entered the bustling hotel lobby he took off his dark sunglasses and hooked them onto the collar of his shirt. A pair of handsome emerald-colored eyes scanned the large, inviting area, missing nothing and seriously impressed with what he saw. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls. There was polished marble on the floor. Lavish dark red carpeting started at the hallway and was most certainly continued upstairs. Large, polished chandeliers dangled from above. Having stayed in many upscale hotels with his family over the years, he recognized the signs. Subdued elegance and understated wealth. A valet jumped to attention and promptly offered to take his luggage from him but Jim politely refused, having no problems at all toting his own belongings. After taking two steps into the lobby, he came to an abrupt halt in the entranceway, unaware of the other vacation-goers who had to go around him. His attention was diverted elsewhere.

Curling blonde hair perched high on top of a petite body that strolled towards the elevators at the far end of the lobby. Fascinated by the hair, he watched the woman push the up button and tap an impatient heel as she waited for the elevator to open up. He couldn't see her face, only her back. Bright red tank top. Hip hugging black…pants, maybe, or shorts of some kind. He wasn't that up on the right names for women's fashions to correctly identify the article of clothing by its rightful name. Tall high heels. He didn't need her to turn around to know that she definitely was not the curly blonde from his neck of the woods. Couldn't be. There was simply no way on earth Trixie Belden from Sleepyside would ever wear such a revealing ensemble. "You've got to get it together," he ordered himself sternly. Uncertain if he should be frustrated or amused by his intense perusal of the unknown woman, brought on simply because of the color and texture of her hair, he laid the matter to rest by turning away seconds before she stepped into the elevator and grudgingly admitted that his family was right. A vacation would be useful. He needed some time to clear his mind. Whether he would ever tell them that was another matter entirely.

He strode across the lobby to the concierge's office, which was adjacent to the front desk, and patiently joined the small line, the woman already forgotten. A warm smile curved his lips when it was his turn. "James Hart," he murmured softly when the clerk asked for his name. His smile stayed in place while he wondered for the one hundredth time that day why his mother made a reservation in a different name for him. It was a ploy she commonly used when planning trips of business or pleasure for her and his father. A useful tool, it helped keep a semblance of anonymity for them during their travels. She simply hadn't given the matter a proper thought when making his travel plans and apologized profusely for it when she realized her mistake.

"Here is your key, Mr. Hart," the concierge said, holding out his card key for him. He lifted his head when the front desk clerk came in with a note. After a swift perusal, he shook Jim's hand and quietly excused himself, leaving him in the company of the clerk.

"I hope you enjoy your stay with us," the front desk clerk said and almost gave in to the urge to simper. She barely swallowed back a girlish giggle. Now here was a customer she would remember, she thought with a dreamy sigh. Definitely one in a million. "Umm. Thank you for choosing _The Victoria_. Please, don't hesitate to contact us if you need anything. We'll be glad to assist you."

"Thank you, Maria," he replied, using the name printed on her nametag. "I'm sure I will." He picked the key up from the counter, grabbed his carry-on and his suitcase, and made his way to the elevators. Ironically enough, he touched the same button the blonde had a few minutes earlier. Exchanging pleasantries with a couple who walked by, he waited for an elevator to arrive. When it did, he walked in and watched the little red numbers flash by.

The elevator stopped on the nineteenth floor. Jim stepped out, pulling his suitcase behind him, and wheeled it down the hallway, nodding his head at a few other guests he passed along the way. "1938," he muttered to himself, concentrating on the passing numbers, until he found the room. He wasted no time in sliding his card key into the slot and slipping into the sanctuary of his room for the next week. Or, he corrected himself as he stared in amazement around the massive area, his suite. Stunned, his bag slipped out of his hands. It was larger than his apartment back in the city.

"You've got to hand it to my mother. She definitely knows what she's doing," he said aloud in absolute awe by the glorious living space laid out in front of him. The living room was twice the size of his and had a comfortable looking sectional made out of black leather situated in front of the biggest flat screen television he had ever seen. Leaving his luggage, he scurried over to study it and was amazed again at the set of electronics hooked up. His nod was one of pure male appreciation, pleased to see not only a Wii but also a Blu-Ray, complete with a wide assortment of movies and games held within the shelves of the entertainment center. A fully stocked bar sat in the corner, right before a set of sliding glass doors took him out to a generous-sized terrace that overlooked an attractive and seemingly private courtyard. A large table with a closed umbrella, four comfortable chairs and a chaise lounge completed the inviting and comfortable terrace setting.

After coming back in from the outside, he examined the rest of the suite. A working kitchen. An attached dining room with a large enough table able to sit eight guests. A full bath off the living room. A small exercise room with a treadmill, elliptical, a set of free weights, and a stereo system should any guest need inspiration. Maybe his vacation wasn't going to be so bad after all, he mused and continued down the hall.

The thick carpet muffled the sound of his footsteps. He peeked into the bedroom. A king size bed sat, dead center, in the room, with yet another plasma television fastened to the wall. A walk-in closet sat off to the right. The full bath attached to the room had a glass-encased shower as well as a large, comfortable Jacuzzi tub. Impressed and beginning to feel the first strains of enthusiasm about his enforced vacation, he flopped down on his bed and picked up the remote, wanting to unwind after the long flight from across the country. There was enough to keep him occupied in the room alone. He wouldn't have to leave it for days, if he didn't want to.

After finding a sports station, he lay back on the bed and crossed his arms behind his neck, staring up at the ceiling as the sportscasters' voices provided a surprisingly comforting background noise. Although his traveling hadn't been all that difficult (a comfortable flight all to himself on the company's private plane), exhaustion began to creep up on him. His eyes slowly flittered closed. Before he knew it, he fell into a light doze.

The loud chirp of his cell shocked him awake about ten minutes later. Disoriented, he pushed himself off the bed and shook his head to clear it. When the cell chirped for the third time, he recognized the sound and started staggering down the hallway to the living room. After rooting through his bag, he found his cell at the exact moment the ringing stopped. "Figures," he grumbled under his breath and rubbed a hand over his tired face. He considered going back to sleep until he dialed up the missed call. Honey's home. Thinking his sister was calling to check up on him, he hit the send button and waited, expecting his sister to answer the phone. He was oddly surprised when she didn't. "Brian? What are you doing answering the phone?" he questioned, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

"That's quite a nice greeting you've got there, Frayne. You know how to make someone feel welcome," Brian joked back playfully as he sat down at his kitchen table, a cup of coffee at his elbow. Cat naps served him well during medical school. Today, though, he wished he'd been able to sleep longer than fifteen minutes. The first thing he did when he came downstairs was to brew himself up a fresh pot of coffee. Decaf, to be sure, since he was home and wasn't working. Covering a broad yawn, he worked on stretching out the kinks in his muscles.

"Sorry," Jim said apologetically. Feeling the first stirrings of hunger, he crossed into the kitchen and inspected the refrigerator. Fruits, vegetables, a carton of fresh milk, and other necessities, all complementary of the hotel, were inside. He pulled out an apple and a bottle of water, unscrewed the top and closed the door with a hip. "I thought Honey was the one who called. I didn't think you'd be home yet."

"Believe it or not, I beat her home today. She had a full schedule. I actually only had to work half a day," Brian shared with pronounced good cheer. Since he was the only one home, he gave in to the urge to lean back in the wooden chair and balanced precariously on the back two legs.

Jim glanced at the clock and quickly did the mental math. Sure enough, it was close to quitting time on the East Coast. Not so in Las Vegas. Time change. He'd have to remember the difference. "Well, you'll have to tell her thanks for me," he said dryly.

"I don't know if I should add in the sarcasm or not." Brian's lips twitched. Jim didn't sound all that sincere in his gratitude towards his wife. Not that he could blame him. Brian never wanted to be on the receiving end of a Madeleine Hart Wheeler/Madeleine Wheeler Belden tag-team match-up. The outcome would never be pretty for their opponent. Jim was a perfect example of that.

"Add it," Jim shot back quickly and swallowed his first sip. Reluctantly, he let out a small sigh and lifted his shoulders. Looking around the suite, he amended his words, "Actually, that's not being entirely fair. My suite is much nicer than my apartment in the city. Believe it or not, I think I could live here."

Brian nodded his dark head. "Honey got on-line the other night and showed me pictures of your hotel and some of its rooms. It looks amazing."

"It's even better in person." Jim hooked a foot over a stool and plunked down at the counter. "I'm not kidding when I say that my room is nicer than my apartment. It really is. It's also much more elaborate than what I was expecting."

"Have you done any exploring yet?" Brian tapped a finger against the kitchen table, relatively certain of Jim's answer.

"Nah. Not yet. The plane only got in about an hour ago. There's been time to check in, find my room, and watch a little television." Jim's mouth tilted down at the corners. He wondered if he was actually as boring as he sounded. Probably, was the unflattering answer. It made him give a wry chuckle.

One dark eyebrow arched. Brian imagined Jim's itinerary so far would match his perfectly, if he had been the one on a vacation. Ah, the problems of having to be the most responsible ones of their little group. Their roles had definitely left a strong imprint on their adult lives. At least Jim was taking it easy even if he wasn't taking advantage of all that the hotel, and Vegas, had to offer, he figured with a slow grin. Letting the subject go, he shared, "I talked to Dan a while ago."

"What's up with Mangan?" Jim picked up one of the many brochures lying in a neat stack on the counter and absently started thumbing through it, not paying a lick of attention to any of its contents. The smiling pictures of performers staring back at him didn't grab his interest. "He called me earlier when I was flying. In his message he said there was no reason to call back, only that he was merely killing some time. Is there anything new with him?"

"Not really. His message summed it all up. He has a couple of days off and wanted to use some of his free time to actually talk to us," Brian shared, keeping to himself that it sounded like Dan was another Bob-White who could use a vacation. He knew the signs well enough, having survived pre-med, medical school, and now working on completing his residency. Weariness had a way in recognizing it in others. Dan was tired, of that he had no doubt. "He was looking forward to relaxing at his place in the city."

"I can understand that." Hell, could he ever. His long days at work, punctuated with rather sleepless nights where he spent more time fantasizing than sleeping, didn't make him rested or refreshed. He almost envied Dan the ability to relax at his small apartment. The chances of Jim ever relaxing back in the city were slim to none but he kept that telling thought to himself. Having lost all interest in the wonderful sights Vegas had to offer, he closed the brochure and pushed it aside. "How is everyone?"

As usual, _everyone_ from Jim really meant Trixie. For the sake of his best friend, Brian gamely swallowed back his deep chuckle. His eyes were another story. They sparkled with unexpressed humor. "Normal," he replied, taking the question at face value. Would Jim actually bring her name up? He wasn't so sure. Deciding it would be amusing to play around with Jim, he went on to explain, "It's the same-old, same-old here in Sleepyside. Honey is fine. Moms and Dad are fine. So are the rest of our family. Our biggest news has to be about the newest Bob-White set to make an appearance in a few months time. Mart is absolutely thrilled." That was putting it mildly. He'd shared with Brian right after finding out that they were having a girl that he hoped she looked just like Di.

"A girl from what I hear." Jim shook his head, having a hard time imagining the irrepressible Mart Belden and the pretty Diana Lynch Belden as parents. A baby Bob-White, the very first from their clan. Judging from the way he knew his sister thought, it wouldn't be too much longer before she started getting a similar idea. He almost, almost, brought it up to Brian but decided at the last minute not to.

"Moms is ecstatic. I think she was secretly hoping for a little girl. She wants another chance to dress one up. She didn't exactly get that with Trixie, you know. That sister of mine only put up with it when she was an infant. Once she started walking, she wouldn't keep any of the dresses Moms tried to make her wear on." His laugh was easy but his eyes were shrewd. The chair landed with a thud as Brian shifted momentum, moved forward and waited. He almost started whistling but figured that would be too obvious.

Jim fought back the urge to clear his throat. With Brian so helpfully bringing up the person he was most interested in, he didn't know what to say next. He stared up at the ceiling, blew out a low, nearly inaudible breath, and wondered when he started acting like a teenager again. A graduate of Harvard Law School and he could turn into such an inarticulate idiot over the mere mention of her name. Yeah, the vacation was a good idea. "No," he said when he was reasonably certain his voice was in good working order. "Somehow dress up and Trixie don't go together."

"Nope. They never did," Brian responded cheerfully…too cheerfully. Realizing that Jim was simply dying to hear more about present-day Trixie, he ignored it and merrily continued on, "Aunt Alicia tried hard, much harder than Moms did. She wouldn't give up. She always gave Trixie dresses for her birthday presents. Trixie always politely thanked her for them, mostly because Moms was right next to her, forcing her to do it. Anyway, I think most of them ended up in the bottom of the toy box or buried out in the orchard, usually right after Aunt Alicia left our house."

Jim surprised Brian by laughing. It wasn't difficult at all to picture a preschool aged Trixie carrying a shovel in one hand and dragging a sparkly pink frilly dress with the other. The thought of burying the dress alive would most certainly have appealed to her energetic nature. He'd be willing to bet that's how most of the dresses met their untimely demise. "I'd have liked to have seen that," he said after his brief burst of laughter ended.

"It was priceless." Brian's eyes widened, stunned by how comfortable Jim seemed to be with the conversation turning to Trixie. Maybe…he mused quietly, recalling an interesting story his wife shared with him about Jim and Trixie after the wedding. While he certainly didn't want to know WHAT happened between the two of them or, more importantly, what they wanted to have happen, it would make him, as well as many others, very, very happy if they managed to settle their differences, once and for all. If they could take it one step further and finally see what was staring them both straight in the face for the longest of times…well, it would be about time, he thought with a definitive nod of his head. Since making Jim suffer didn't seem quite as interesting now, Brian shared, "Honey chatted with Trixie last week. I think our favorite California P.I. just finished up a job and is getting ready to start another one."

She liked to be busy, too. Jim fleetingly wondered if she wanted to be busy for the same reasons why he wanted to. After a few of their conversations during the wedding week, especially the one at the bluffs during a break in their ride together, he rather suspected she did. Content, he remembered. A far cry from happy, when one really thought about it. He should know. It was the exact same spot he continually resided in. "Good for her," he murmured because he needed to say something.

Brian recognized the tone. It was the most he was going to get out of his best friend. He let the matter go with only a slight qualm and introduced a new topic. "What's up with Ten Acres? We had dinner with your parents on Saturday night and your father told me a little about the trials and tribulations you've been having with the whole project."

Jim shrugged a muscled shoulder. Trials and tribulations. He couldn't think of a more apt term to describe the building process or lack thereof. So far, it wasn't anywhere near where he wished it to be. He thought back to the lengthy phone call he'd shared with his contractor yesterday. Hopefully some progress would be made…and soon. Building was turning out to be a huge nightmare of red tape, permits, building laws, broken machinery, bad weather, and unavailable materials. Not the most enjoyable experience of his life. "Slow, Brian. In fact, much slower than I'd hoped it would be. It seems that my contractor and I have run into every single roadblock imaginable. If all goes well, and notice I'm using the word, _if_, the foundation should be laid by the start of next week." He wasn't willing to bet on it, not when everything under the sun seemed to be conspiring against the nice log cabin house he wanted to build on his generous plot of land in Sleepyside.

"Do you think the house will be ready on time?" He cocked his head to the side, cognizant of the fact that Jim originally wanted to have the house done by the end of the summer. Was it still possible? From Matthew Wheeler's explanation and irritation, it would be nearly impossible to meet the deadline.

"Barring any more unnecessary delays, we're hoping to get it done. It's still feasible." Jim shook his head. He'd offered to increase the bonus should the house be finished by the original date. As soon as the new dollar amount was mentioned, the contractor promised to do everything humanly possible to make the date. It was the extra incentive needed to hopefully push the project along. He wasn't willing to count any chickens though.

The clink that could only be keys falling onto the boards of the front porch followed by a feminine moan of exasperation punctured the air, a sure sign that his wife was finally home. Brian lifted his head, a wide, delighted smile splitting his face. Without preamble, he slid out of the chair and started walking through the house, wanting to meet Honey when she came in through the door. The half day off from work combined with his nap rejuvenated him. A little extra energy spurted through him as a devilish gleam entered his eyes. He really wanted to share it with his wife. "Jim, Honey just got home. We'll get in touch with you soon." Knowing it was rude, he didn't offer to put Honey on the phone. Instead, he abruptly ended the call. He had much better things to do than talk to his brother-in-law.

"Honey's home? Can I…" All he heard was the incessant droning of the dial tone. Jim stared down at the cell, perplexed. Brian hung up on him? He paused in the act of calling him back. Obviously Brian had better things to do now than talk to him. Rolling his eyes, he put down the phone and began wandering through the suite again. As comfortable as it was, the quiet began to descend upon him, threatening to stifle him with its overwhelming peacefulness. Deciding it was time to see what else the hotel offered, Jim grabbed his suitcase and made quick work of unpacking his belongings. It wasn't too long before his clothes were hanging in the large walk-in closet that could pass as a room itself and he changed into a fresh outfit.

After tossing a haphazard glance in the mirror, satisfied with his faded blue jeans and forest green polo shirt, Jim opened the door and stepped out into the hall. He tried not to stare at the overly exuberant couple across the hall from him who didn't seem to care that another human being joined them. Skirting away from them and their penchant towards public displays of rather lavish affection, he strode swiftly to the elevator, having absolutely no idea where he wanted to go. Maybe the restaurant would do. There had to be something that grabbed his interest. After all, he was in Las Vegas.

The elevator doors swooshed open when the elevator reached the lobby. Jim dutifully exited into the lobby, nodding at the trio of young women who entered after him, giggling the entire way and tossing him interested glances under their thickly mascarad lashes. Unaware that they checked him out before the doors swung closed again, he stopped and carefully studied the signs. Many options were available; almost too many for someone who wasn't used to taking the time to simply relax and enjoy. Slot machines, the casino, the bars, the restaurant, shops, the theaters, the pool, the gym or he could leave the hotel and find pretty much the same things out there, in different places. Since staying in the same building appealed more than exploring the city on his own, he started down the long hallway to the right. The restaurant Mrs. Sinclair was interested in called out to him but, for some unknown reason, he chose not to go there, probably because it wasn't exactly a mealtime. Deciding a drink of some kind would do him some good, he changed directions, veered off and followed the signs to one of the bars. The Crown Vic. It seemed like a good option so he walked through the doorway and came to an abrupt halt, shocked. The bar was packed which was a surprise since the afternoon wasn't even close to waning yet.

Couples loitered in the corners. Groups of friends or business associates claimed tables and booths, in no apparent hurry to give them up. Waves of laughter ebbed and flowed around him. Music came from the far end of the bar, where a few couples and singles were energetically showing off their moves. The stifling quiet of his room was starting to lure him back. Thinking that maybe choosing a bar wasn't the best option right now, he almost turned around and left but an excited group of tourists chose that moment to enter the bar. They took up the entire entrance, barring his way back out. Because his exit route was blocked, he ended up weaving his way in and around the crowd on his way to the bar.

After bursting through a line of giggling, and obviously very happy, people, he gave a grateful sigh and approached the bar. Idly contemplating what to order, he turned his head. And then did a serious double take that was comical to the extreme. Blood started to roar through his veins. The fine hairs on his arms stood up at attention. A line of concentration settled on his forehead while he almost succeeded in convincing himself that he was finally and irrevocably going insane. For certain, his eyes were failing and playing the nastiest of tricks ever on him. There was simply no way he could be seeing who he thought he was seeing. No way in hell.

There were times in the past when he felt the need to bottle up his curiosity. Not this time. The need to know far outweighed anything else. Because the bar was knee-deep in people, unintentionally trapping him in, the only course open to him was to stare, to study, and to do it openly. All he could see were a mountain of blonde curls, piled high on top of her head. Of course, her head was turned away from him so he couldn't get a straight shot at her face, only a pitiful partial of a profile. His eyes roamed farther down. Something an optimistic person might term a dress was painted on her body. It looked rather short and tight to him, topped off with a sparkly sweater. In her right hand was some kind of a purply pink swirl of a drink with a matching ornate paper umbrella. He watched in morbid fascination as she ran a perfectly manicured and long fingernail along the edge of the glass. Bright red. Surely he was wrong. Surely. It couldn't be her. Nothing was right about what he was seeing. He almost convinced himself that he was wrong. Almost. But…

She tossed her head back and accepted a napkin from a bartender and chuckled at something he said. That low, throaty sound made his knees feel like they were ready to turn into water. And then…and then, she shifted. The slight turn was all he needed. A full on view of her profile. God, _her_ profile. Her pert, upturned nose, which he knew was still smattered with light, barely there freckles. Full pink lips, with a dimple winking on each side. Those high cheekbones his fingers could remember tracing, all those years ago. And brilliantly bright blue eyes. A loud burst of music coming from the dance floor covered his shocked gasp. What the hell was she doing here? And dressed up? _Dressed up_? His Trixie never liked to dress up. She did her best to avoid it whenever possible. Hadn't he just recently covered that same subject on the phone with Brian? A string of unanswered questions formed in his mind, an unbreakable, tightening chain, while he stood gaping like a mindless fool in her direction.

Another bartender reached across the bar and tapped him on the elbow. "Hey, buddy," he said, snapping his fingers to get Jim's attention, biting back a chuckle at the dumbfounded expression on the customer's face.

Jim whipped his head around and glared at the innocent man, who merely grinned back at him, unperturbed by the flash of ire in the emerald eyes. "What?" he barked out, uncaring of how rude it made him seem. He couldn't get past the fact that Trixie was only a mere ten feet away from him.

The fierce expression on his customer's face didn't bother him. As a seasoned bartender, he saw more than a fair share from his position behind the bar. All-seeing and all-knowing. He recognized the signs. This one was already hooked. Gesturing towards the object of interest, he leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. "She sure is a looker. Most of the guys here have already tried. Thought you'd like to know that they're batting a big fat goose egg right now. She rebuffed each and every one with a flick of her wrist. Hopefully you'll do better. How about I get you something to fortify yourself before you give it a whirl?"

Jim didn't have any recollection at all of agreeing. Before he knew it, a mug of some kind of foamy, frothy beer was placed in his hand. Fingers gripped it tightly. He couldn't remember thanking the bartender or if he even paid for the beverage. Trapped in that odd place, somewhere between exhilaration and puzzlement at having her here in the same hotel and in the same city, and looking so unlike the Trixie he knew, his feet moved of their own accord. Through the crowd. Straight towards her.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Five

After the bartender left to tend to another customer, Trixie glanced down at the cocktail napkin he'd given her. Her blue eyes widened in surprise. Penned on the napkin in unforgiving black ink was a time and her name. _Eleven o'clock, Miss Johnson_. Bewildered, she pulled out her cell since the bar wasn't equipped with a clock of any kind. The reality of time generally didn't mean a thing in Las Vegas. She stared down at the little blue numbers, frowning in concentration. Exactly as she'd thought, it was well into the afternoon and way past eleven o'clock. The only other option seemed to be eleven o'clock at night. It was a remote possibility, she mused, and idly swirled around the paper umbrella before taking a sip of her interesting mix of a drink. But not very likely. Surely Mr. Young didn't expect her to wait around in the bar for hours upon hours before someone from his entourage contacted her.

Then it hit her. It was not the actual, physical time. No, it was the placement on the clock. She glanced up, looked in the direction of eleven o'clock and met the interested and intense gaze of the man who could only be her contact. He lifted his glass in silent acknowledgment and stood up from his empty table. Prepared and primed to begin the charade, focused entirely on the man coming her way, she watched him meander towards her spot at the bar. She had to smile when he stopped by a couple and engaged them in a short conversation, obviously wanting to prolong the moment of their meeting and hopefully cause her nerves to swell with impatience. Typical, she thought with an amused puff of air and studied him coolly over the rim of her glass, in the exact way he must have studied her without her knowledge. A little under six feet, of medium build, slightly overweight, and either bald by choice or genetics. After making a quick mental scan of the names of Mr. Young's henchmen, she immediately classified him as Carl Ritchey, a man high up on the totem pole. She slipped off her stool, slapped a hand on her hip and unconsciously squared her shoulders, prepared for her mission to officially commence.

She didn't take her eyes off him when Ritchey was momentarily detained by another man after leaving the table with the other couple. It wouldn't come as a surprise to her at all if the unknown man was receiving his orders to search her room while she was being thoughtfully detained below. The thought brought a slow, satisfied chuckle to her lips which died a swift and unusual death. An odd sensation, one she couldn't correctly classify or identify, started at the nape of her neck and tingled its way down her spine, telling her that something was most definitely off. Something odd. Something serious. And something that could possibly cause a great deal of havoc with her carefully laid plans. When a feeling as strong as this one overtook her, ignoring it or shaking it off wasn't possible or even advisable. The last time she experienced one similar to it occurred during her shopping trip with Honey in White Plains before the wedding, when Max showed up unexpectedly and accosted her on the sidewalk. The need to find out why turned overwhelming, causing a blemish to form on the official start of her mission.

Pinpointing the cause was now of paramount importance. Carefully, keeping a controlled expression on her face and her drink held lightly in her hands, she zeroed in on the most logical of all places: Carl Ritchey and his associate. It took less than a heartbeat for her to realize it wasn't coming from them. Tilting her head to the side, she puzzled it out that it had to be coming from somewhere else. And that worried her, more than she cared to admit. After putting her glass down, she unobtrusively put a hand on her purse. The presence of the gun hidden between the faux leather and black satin lining settled her nerves. It was there, should she need it, as were the two members of her back-up team, which she caught out of the corner of her eye. They were sitting in a booth, not far away, and ready to spring into action, should it be deemed necessary. Because she didn't want to draw any attention to them, she purposefully ignored them and missed the discreet signal they were attempting to send her.

Needing to appear outwardly calm and collected, she half-turned and searched the other parts of the bar. The right side didn't yield anything but the bartenders, the boisterous customers, and a few busy waitresses carrying their trays of drinks. Straight ahead carried an assortment of tables, both circular and square, and hardly anyone who seemed to be of noteworthy importance. To the left were Ritchey and his cohort, a group of businessmen obviously ecstatic to be free from their conference, as well as a few other couples cozied up in the booths and tables. The only remaining option was to her back. About to turn the entire way around and hopefully find out what had put her instincts on the highest of red alerts, she jumped, startled, at the gentle touch on her shoulder.

The touch was brief and light, hardly anything to get upset about or worried over. At least, that's what her head told her. For some as-yet unidentified reason, her heart wasn't listening. It started pounding so hard and so fast she was shocked it didn't land on the polished tiled floor. A peculiar reaction, one that didn't sit well with her at all, and one that made her question her sanity. She shouldn't be worried about someone approaching her, not when her contact was fifteen feet away. In the agency she was renowned for her ability to quickly and efficiently analyze any situation, no matter how simple or complicated it became, and then find the best possible way to solve it. She was not known for losing sight of any plans or giving into a case of unsettled and uneasy nerves. Not knowing who it was, only cognizant of the fact that whoever it was needed to get the hell away from her, and now, she whirled around, prepared to give the person an extremely rude hiss of a greeting and send him on his way. And then everything went blank, completely, utterly and totally blank.

Whatever words she was planning on saying froze before they could tumble from her slack lips. Her face became a pure portrait of shock. Her mouth bowed open; her eyes went wide. She went pale underneath the artfully applied make-up on her face. She couldn't call up one single, solitary conscious thought. The only thing that came out of her suddenly dry throat was a low and extremely hoarsely uttered, "Gleeps."

It was her. It really was her. She was the only one he knew to still use such an unusual term like 'gleeps'. A Trixie Belden special. His emerald gaze swept over her from top to bottom, missing nothing except the notable lack of enthusiasm of her greeting. She looked even more unlike herself close-up than she had from a short distance away. While common sense demanded that he should start questioning the reasoning behind why she was here and discover why she was dressed up in some other woman's Friday night best, and on a late Wednesday afternoon, no less, he didn't. Amazed, astounded, astonished. Wondering if he somehow invented her from his most secret of thoughts, he reached out and fingered the curl hanging over her forehead to prove that she was real and not a figment of his overly active imagination. The hairspray and other beauty products wouldn't let it obey his tug. "Trixie," Jim murmured quietly.

The deep voice brought shivers to her, made her realize with an unsteady beat the exact reasoning behind her strange feeling of few seconds earlier. Only Jim. Her earlier conversation with Dan ran through her mind, mocking her with a gleefulness that she quickly came to despise. Why oh why oh why hadn't he told her that Jim was in Las Vegas! And why hadn't she gone with her instincts and tried to get in contact with someone right after Dan abruptly ended their call in order to find out Jim's vacation destination! Maybe, maybe, maybe if she'd known he was here, damn it all, she would have been able to avoid him. Maybe. But maybe wasn't a place she could afford to spend any time in, especially now. With the way the fates seemed to gaily like to poke fun at her expense, she highly doubted if it would have mattered. Whether she wanted him to be here or not, he was. And so was she. Now what the hell was she going to do about it? So many thoughts clamored for supremacy. Too many. Much to her chagrin, she couldn't settle upon a single one.

"Trixie." He repeated her name again, his forehead wrinkling in confusion when she didn't answer him and only stared out at him through fathomless eyes. She was wearing an unusual expression on her face, one he couldn't identify or put his finger on. It bothered him more than the outlandish outfit.

"Jim!" She managed to push out his name past the ball of shock clogged tightly in her throat. How could he be here, standing in front of her? It didn't make a lick of sense to her. A hysterical bubble of laughter, edged in nerves, fraught with tension, began to grow and flourish within her. Because she could feel the control she so desperately needed starting to slip away, she sucked in a deep breath, unaware that the simple action drew the material of her dress even tighter against her skin or that he noticed. Big time. Absently, she tucked a disobedient curl behind her ear with her left hand, needing something to do, and missed the flare of hunger flash across his face, only to die a quick and brutal death.

The bar, like most bars everywhere, wasn't equipped with the best of lighting. It was gentle and subdued; more on the muted side than on the brilliant. However, there was enough of it to bounce off the large and rather gaudy diamond encircling her finger…her left ring finger. It couldn't be missed and immediately drew his undivided and unwelcome attention. The welcoming smile stuttered off his face. The heat of desire chilled. And his heart…he swore it stopped beating and seemed to take up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. That damn ring. It practically begged for people to notice it, to admire it, to remember it. It was so damn conspicuous and it could only stand for one thing. She was engaged? He stared down at the object with an indecipherable expression on his face, absolutely abhorring its presence. No way in hell. He thought the words, felt them forming, and lifted his face to hers.

Storm clouds were gathering. Oh, were they ever. She saw them forming in the turbulent green of his eyes. Confused, she glanced down at her hand, saw the ring and blushed a bright red. "Jim, I can…" she started to say but fell silent when a shadow fell over them. The contact! Trixie could cheerfully have kicked herself for forgetting about him. Like a shade being drawn to shut out the bright sunlight, she quickly became the person she needed to be. Her own apprehension, nerves and uncertainty became well hidden behind a carefully constructed façade. She turned and smiled beguilingly up at the stranger, hoping to salvage the farce her first meeting had turned into. Whether she wanted it to be or not, the show was on.

Before she had a chance to say something, anything, to Jim, the man nodded at the couple. A grin that wasn't exactly menacing but wasn't anywhere close to friendly played lightly across his lips. He knew all about Beatrix Johnson, having spent the last few days researching her and her life's history. She more than lived up to her photos and the information he knew about her. An easy target. Her lifestyle was finally catching up with her. She was in desperate need of money and willing to part with a unique item to help her bank account out. Her fiancé, however, was a different story. He hadn't been able to find out his name, let alone a picture of him or a single piece of his personal history. Assuming Jim to be the one, he spared him a glance, committed his face to memory, and decided that the two appeared to be a good fit. The petite blonde and the tall redhead made an attractive couple. Because he didn't know a blessed thing about the man, only that he was accompanying his fiancée on the trip and that the woman was the dealer of the goods, he addressed her instead, but kept the man in his sights. "Miss Johnson. Let me be the first from our small corporation to welcome you to Vegas. How nice it is to finally meet you."

A ton of curse words, bright, vivid, fierce curse words, exploded vibrantly in her mind. This was not going well; not going anywhere close to what it should be or what it needed to be. Widening her smile, making it as big and brilliant as she could until her facial muscles wanted to scream in sheer and utter protest, she stepped up and planted herself firmly in front of Jim. Her right hand rested on her purse, at the ready to pull out her gun should it be needed. Her left splayed out behind her until she felt the smoothness of Jim's shirt under her fingertips, protecting him the best that she could. There wasn't any correct way to predict how this was going to go down. Jim, damn him, didn't even try to make a move to leave, not that she was sure that would be the wisest of moves right now. Unfortunately, she didn't have the slightest clue what was the best course of action. If there was one thing she hated during a mission, it was indecision. Because she was dangerously close to that precarious precipice, she infused her voice with as much strength and confidence as she could muster. "That's me," she replied with a slightly haughty toss of her head. For Jim's sake, she added, softly stressing the last name, "I'm Beatrix Johnson. But you can call me Trixie. Everyone does."

"Hmm. I've never met anyone named Trixie before." He looked her over with a leer of a perusal that set her teeth on edge and made her want to teach him a lesson or two on how to treat a lady. She didn't look around to see how Jim was taking it. She didn't think it would be a good reaction. Humming his approval, he added, "I can honestly say that you look the exact way I always thought a Trixie should look."

Normally, she would have been highly insulted after a remark like that. In this situation, she kept it to herself. Her hand fisted in Jim's shirt behind her, hopefully conveying the fact that he should let the man's rudeness go, and playfully parlayed back, "Thank you. I always appreciate a nice compliment."

The man clapped his hands together, rocked back on his heels and grinned approvingly at her. So far, she was living up to her reputation and his expectations. "My boss sends his apologies. He's busy so he sent me instead to greet you and your fiancé formally. So, greetings to you, Trixie Johnson, and also to your fiancé." He nodded at Jim and shared, "I've learned a lot about your girl here through the necessity of background checks. We always check out the people we work with. However, I wasn't able to find out anything on you at all. Be that as it may, I'm delighted to welcome you to our beautiful city, too." He held out a hand and waited for Jim to accept it.

Oh, God. No! It showed how off her game Jim's presence had thrown her. Never had she anticipated the fact that he would mistake Jim as her fiancé. Never. She wanted to correct it. She needed to correct. She intended to correct it. The need to make it as clear as possible that he was mistaken took precedence over everything else, even the possibility of failure, something she had never experienced in her career as an agent. There had to be some way to explain away his sudden presence. An old boyfriend from high school. A long ago one night stand. A work colleague. Someone she used to carpool with. Hell, it didn't matter. Anything would work. She could make it believable. She opened her mouth to deny his assumption and to offer some kind of an explanation, uncaring if it destroyed the mission right then and there.

And Jim blocked her intentions, neatly, efficiently, and without any chance of a recovery. Reaching out, he automatically accepted the man's handshake. He couldn't tell if it was the right action, the right decision, the right anything. All he knew was that he wasn't going to leave Trixie alone with this man. There was a hidden aura of danger surrounding him, of something not quite civilized or sinister. He didn't like it and he most definitely wasn't going to subject Trixie to it on her own. Whether she wanted him to or not, he was staying by her side. He risked a quick glance at her. Judging from the rather rigid set of her spine, she most likely didn't want him to.

"You're a very lucky man," Ritchey declared with a broad wink after another close inspection of Trixie. He let out the low whistle of a wolf. "She's hot."

"Thanks. I like to think so," was the only reply he could slip past his suddenly thin lips, not caring for the way the man was looking at Trixie. Somehow it was also starting to come together for him. Quickly, he ran through the pitiful amount of facts that he knew. Beatrix Johnson. Make-up. A revealing outfit that belonged more on a dancer than on Trixie Belden of Crabapple Farm. An engagement ring. Background checks. Yeah. It was becoming clearer by the moment. Because he finally realized he'd unintentionally stepped onto a scene he wasn't supposed to be playing, he sidled up closer to Trixie. A hand snaked out, wrapped around her waist, and pressed her tighter against his body.

Protecting her. Dear Lord, he was trying to protect her. Trixie quickly turned her gasp of shock into what she hoped passed for a simpering giggle. Of all the irony. She was doing her best to protect him. Slowly, she leaned back against the wall of Jim's chest. She could hear his heart beat behind her ear. The rhythm was fast, much faster than it should be. She imagined hers must be beating even swifter. Catching a movement out of her eye, she saw the couple a few booths down begin to stand up. She gave them a tiny, imperceptible shake of her head and then hid an inner groan of pure sarcasm when she saw Max and Shane join them. No matter what, they had to ride this particular wave out, now that Jim unintentionally inserted himself into this travesty of a meeting. There'd be time to extradite him out of it afterwards. She'd make certain of it.

Ritchey turned a discerning eye on the silent redhead. So far, he hadn't been able to get a good read of him yet. Quiet and…protective, he thought after studying the two of them standing together and the possessive arm he had around her waist. Because he didn't know anything about him, he kept a wary eye out and focused on the pretty blonde. "I couldn't find out the name of your fiancé. Maybe you could rectify that little matter right now."

The tiny prod was all she needed to start her charade. Hoping her voice sounded sultry and not strained, silently willing Jim to keep his mouth shut as much as possible over the next few minutes, she sent back a teasing rejoinder, "Well, maybe. Once you tell us yours, of course."

"Call me Ritch. Short for my last name, don't you know." Chuckling, he gestured for them to follow him and started walking to the back of the bar, stopping only to accept a mug of beer from a smiling waitress. "I've got us a table reserved in the way back. It's quieter there, much more private. We can get the preliminaries taken care of there and find out where we are headed next," he said after taking a sip of his drink.

Trixie risked the chance and shot one fleeting look at Jim. That one look said it all. Do not talk. Satisfied he understood her unspoken message, she twirled around and followed, her hips swaying with her purposefully slow pace. Now that the game was on, her mind was a burst of activity. A million and one thoughts were circulating through her mind. Unfortunately for her sanity, she couldn't settle on a single one. All she wanted was to get this meeting over with and then…and then…Hell, she didn't know exactly what would happen then. The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that Jim Frayne was getting the hell out of Las Vegas as fast as she could manage it. She would not allow him to stay; not now, not when the enemy knew his face if not his name.

Jim correctly read the silent order in the single militant glare Trixie speared him with before her expression smoothed back out. Then all he was left to look at was her retreating back. Not a bad sight, all in all, he thought and trailed obediently after her, feeling as mixed-up and adrift as she was. Only it wasn't thoughts that were swallowing his attention whole and making it hard for him to keep up. It was feelings. Many, many feelings. All complicated and uncomfortable. Confusion, bewilderment, worry, anxiety, fear, even an uncomfortable strain of jealousy at the way the man, and a few others in the bar, were looking at Trixie; all were jumbled up into a kind of what the hell have I gotten myself into type of a feeling. But the most prominent and prevalent one of all shocked him the most…exhilaration. Exhilaration because he couldn't remember the last time he'd shared such an adventure with Trixie at his side. That exhilaration was the entire reason behind his automatic answer when the man had assumed he was her fiancé…and the fact that he didn't regret it.

Ritch stopped at an empty table far away from the rest of the crowd and invited them to have a seat first before he sat down directly across from them. He watched the unnamed man pull out a chair for the woman and filed it away with the information he'd already learned about the couple. Obviously, the fiancé treated her with respect and valued polite manners, something his boss would highly approve of. Judging from the big fat rock sitting on her finger, he also gave her anything her heart desired. Satisfied, he laid his beer on the table in a deceptively smooth move and began, "Now, where were we? I seem to remember saying that I've had the pleasure of researching Miss Johnson, here."

"Trixie," she corrected again with a tinkling little laugh that grated on Jim's nerves. Her smile was plastered on her face as tightly as the curls were hair-sprayed around her head. "Please, Ritch. Since we're going to be working together, you need to call me Trixie."

"I'll remember to." He nodded his head and turned his steely gaze on the fiancé. "And you?"

Something told Jim not to use his real last name. Whether it was the fact that Trixie wasn't going by Belden, the hint of steel in the bright blue eyes staring back at him, or the thin heel pressing down with increasing force on the top of his foot, he decided it would be in his best interest to listen to it. Extremely grateful his mother made his reservations for him with her unusual habit of using different last names when traveling, he answered calmly, "Jim Hart."

Trixie released a slow, relieved breath of air and moved her foot off his. She finally relaxed. The rigidness left her body as she placed her hands on the top of the table. All business, she leaned across and met Ritch's eyes squarely, not willing to give an inch. "You mentioned preliminaries, Ritch. What do you mean by that? I thought it was a simple case of we've got it, your boss wants to buy it. Done deal."

Inwardly, Trixie didn't think any such thing. She imagined there would be quite a number of hurdles to jump through before any deal would be made. Mr. Young only dealt with people he completely and totally trusted. However, her mark's requirements for working with people didn't matter to her anymore. She wasn't too concerned about the requirements for earning his trust. Right now, her biggest concern was pushing this meeting through as quickly as possible and getting Jim out of the picture, to a safe place far, far away. Only then would she see if there was any possible way to salvage her mission. In her opinion, the odds didn't seem that good. She was obviously riding out an extremely cold streak, where luck had absolutely no place.

Ritch's laugh held a harsh and rather ugly quality to it. He waved his mug through the air. "That's not the way my boss handles his business, babe. He always likes to get to know the people who's…ah, peddling, shall we say? He will only work with people he has complete and total confidence in. If you haven't earned that confidence or trust…well…" He spread his hands out in front of him and shrugged his thick shoulders. "You're a smart lady. You'd have to be to have acquired that useful item you currently have in your possession. I imagine you've got a pretty good imagination, too. We'll leave it at that."

A small, unveiled threat, offered through a set of white, grinning teeth. Everything she expected but Jim did not. She let the babe comment slide without reacting and laid a restraining hand on Jim's arm when he bristled. Hurriedly, before he said anything she would regret, she inquired curiously, "How do we go about earning his trust?"

"First impressions are big, you know." Ritch drummed a finger along the top of the table. "I'll share mine with him. If he likes what I have to say to him, you may get a chance to meet him." He intentionally didn't let on what his impression of them were, hoping to make them squirm. "He takes everything into account before making a monumental decision like this one. Then there's the background checks. He's already seen yours, babe. Now, we'll have to wait and see if your background information turns out well, Jim Hart."

Jim was having a difficult time keeping a lid on his temper. It wanted out, in all of its fierce Frayne glory, and it wanted to take on the smug man sitting across from them. First the wandering eyes, then the unflattering comments to and about Trixie, and now threats. Speaking of trust? He didn't trust this Ritch guy, not one little bit. "There's nothing wrong with my information," he declared through clenched teeth while he wondered what kind of information they would find on a Jim Hart anyway. The man didn't exist...but neither did Beatrix Johnson, a small voice inserted itself. His eyes flared open wide at the unexpected thought.

Ritch threw back his head and laughed, delighted with the answer as well as the iron control the man was exuding. "Excellent response. Highly commendable, even. You understand the need for our rather, ah, extensive background checks, right? We don't mean to be insulting or offensive, to either of you. My boss doesn't have any desire to work with someone who could be classified as inappropriate. It's the nature of the beast, I'm afraid. We need to cover all our bases."

So did she. Trixie was suddenly grateful for Max's unusual decision not to tie his alias into hers. Why he'd thought it would be a good idea to keep his assumed identity apart from Beatrix Johnson, she couldn't really say, but it was turning out to be one of the very best ideas he'd ever had. There wouldn't have been any successful course in explaining away Jim if he hadn't. And now he was firmly entranced in the role of her fiancé. Keeping in character, she turned big, fluttering eyes on him. "We can understand the need for that, can't we?" For the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to tack on a 'darling', 'sweetie', or 'dear' to it. Not right now. She wasn't in the mood.

Jim glanced down into the batting blue eyes before him. Since keeping his mouth shut worked for him, he settled for a small nod and was rewarded by one of her smiles. Not the sunny smile of Trixie from Sleepyside. No, one of her large, fake, feline ones that he wasn't aware she could even give. It matched the large diamond on her finger in pretension.

"Good, good. Nobody wants to insult or offend either of you." Ritch added in his mental notes that the couple appeared very comfortable with each other and had excellent communication skills. "I have both of your names now and I've enjoyed the pleasure of your company. Now the last thing I need is your room number. Where are you staying?" The room number was merely a formality. He didn't need it. Already a few friends of his were happily rifling through the room she had commandeered soon after arriving at the hotel.

"Room 448," Trixie answered at the exact same moment Jim declared, "1938."

"Wait." Ritch's smile slipped off his face, to be replaced with something darkly ominous. Trixie saw for the first time why Mr. Young kept him as a highly valued member in his employ. She inched closer to Jim, ready to push him out of the booth if needed and snuck her hand into her purse. Ritch frowned at the couple and said in a low, dangerous voice, "It seems we have an issue that needs some attention. You're going to have to clear this up for me. Now. Why do you have two rooms?"

Jim ignored the threatening man across the table. Going on instinct, he picked up Trixie's suddenly limp hand, squeezed, and focused entirely on her. "I'm sorry, Trixie. My surprise's been ruined. I wanted to show it to you after our meeting here. You see, I had the chance to get a better room for us at the last minute and I took it. I hope you don't mind."

"A better room? Really? How lovely," Trixie purred her answer, impressed with his quick thinking. A better room would appeal to her alter-ego and serve as an excellent reason for two rooms. Out of her peripheral vision, she watched their interested audience start to relax.

Play-acting was clearly not his forte. All coherent thought dripped out of his brain the second she fluttered her heavily mascaraed eyes his way. And when she trailed a blood red fingernail along the collar of his shirt…well, he didn't stand a chance. His body temperature started to soar and his mind, what was left of it, simply turned into mush. "Ah…yes. Umm, I thought you'd like it."

"I do." It may have been one of the biggest lies she'd ever told in her entire life. There was nothing she liked about their present situation. Not a single damn thing. Following his lead, deciding it was extremely effective, she pretended Ritch wasn't sitting across from them, too. Because it was appropriate for her cover and their supposed relationship, she put two hands on his shoulders and moved in with a stealthness he hadn't expected. Her lips met his for a soft, feathery sort of a kiss. She pulled back in time to see the stunned expression on his face and found it within her to murmur, "I like it a lot."

Pleased and placated, Ritch nodded his bald head. "Since we've settled the issue of your room to my satisfaction, here's the last thing you need to know. If you want to back out, now's the time to do it. Simply skulk away before you get in too deep. No harm, no foul." He carefully gauged the reactions in front of him. His boss could get very unhappy if any deal fell through after he put a lot of time, energy and man-power into it.

"Understood." Trixie didn't blink a blue eye. She was already planning on doing just that. No way was she going through it with now, not with this colossal mess of a mix-up. She couldn't tell what Jim's thoughts were but they didn't matter. Her preference clearly took center stage.

"Should you still be here tomorrow, we'll assume you are serious about continuing with your offer. I'll contact you and give you your next set of instructions. After tomorrow, if my boss likes what he sees, he'll set up a personal meeting, between the three of you. He doesn't do anything with people he doesn't completely trust…especially when it involves the amount of money you're asking for." He threw the hook out there and waited for the response.

Trixie let a greedy gleam enter her eyes, exactly the response Ritch expected, and gave him her full attention. She steepled her fingers together and winked at him. "The price is definitely worth it, I promise you that. Your boss won't be disappointed."

He certainly hoped so. His boss didn't handle disappointments of any kind well. Believing he had everything he needed, Ritch slid off his chair and stood up, already trying to formulate a way to get someone into room 1938. Most likely he'd have to wait until tomorrow, he thought with a small disappointed sigh. His instincts told him that Trixie Johnson wouldn't want to leave their new luxurious suite anytime soon. His instincts never failed him. "I've got all I need for the moment. As I stated before, if you're serious and everything checks out, someone will be contacting you in the morning." He gave a small wave and sauntered away, their personal information running through his mind.

Feeling as if everything was spiraling well and truly out beyond her control, Trixie stood up on legs that threatened to collapse, a testament to how the whole interview affected her. She straightened them with a jerk, mindful that there could still be prying eyes upon them and waited for Jim to join her, her red lips curved as far up as she could make them go.

He couldn't even begin to imagine the thoughts swirling through that fascinating brain of hers. Correctly guessing they weren't positive or tranquil, he held out his arm and nearly grinned when she appeared uncertain what to do with it. He did grin when she finally tucked her hand through his elbow. Not surprising, he could still feel the pressure of her lips against his, a testament to the strength of that ever so soft kiss. Staring down, he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. "Trixie…?"

"Don't. Not here. Not now," Trixie insisted through her forced smile, unwilling to talk here. Not without jeopardizing their safety. She settled for walking with him towards the bar. She aimed a killer glare at a totally unrepentant Max, who was holding his sides and finding it hard to contain a sudden bout of laughter from a table nearby. The promise of retribution, most likely painful retribution, shone out through the icy blue of her eyes. It didn't seem to bother him. Great big guffaws continued to roll out of him, as well as Shane, who appeared out of nowhere to join him.

Jim stopped to throw down money for their drinks and added a generous tip. His bartender friend of a few minutes ago gestured towards Trixie and gave him a thumbs-up sign, obviously pleased that things worked out well. Going with the moment, Jim winked back and slipped an arm around Trixie's waist, amazed that she didn't pull away from him. Because he could feel the tension mounting inside her with absolutely no immediate outlet, he tugged her out of the bar as quickly as possible. Together, their legs ate up the plush red carpeting but not a single word was exchanged. He couldn't accurately predict what was going to happen once they reached his…no, their room. One thing he knew for sure, though. Las Vegas was turning out to be much more interesting than he expected it to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Six

Like the walk down the long hallway, no words were exchanged during the entirety of the elevator ride. Trixie spent the whole time staring blankly at the wall in front of them, an unwilling and unhappy victim of the hands of fate. She didn't take the time to notice the red numbers of the passing floors or the couple who exited a few floors before their destination. Oh, no. She deliberated on the disaster of the debacle downstairs instead. In her line of work she had experienced more than her fair share of unpredictable events. While a good many missions went off like clockwork, more than a few did not. It was the nature of the beast. All agents had to learn to cope and adapt with the unexpected. However, nothing in her experience equaled the scope and sequence of today's misadventure. It left her flummoxed, a feeling she did not appreciate. The only way she could possibly feel worse was if someone hit her in the stomach with a two by four, knocked her flat on her back, and then danced on her dazed and highly confused body.

With a superhuman will, she pushed back the hysteria threatening to swallow her whole and ignored her rampaging emotions. Concentrate, she ordered herself harshly. Con-cen-trate. Her face settled into smooth lines while she did just that. On the one hand, she had the imminent failure of her mission, something she'd never experienced in her professional career before. That was enough to rub at her, to make her want to sneer. But the other side was more pressing, more important, more…everything. It could be summed up in one simple three lettered word: Jim. As impossible as it seemed, he was standing right next to her, silent as she. Merely a foot of air separated them. How the hell was she supposed to handle her professional life colliding with her personal one? No answers were forthcoming, just the uncomfortable churning of her stomach. She pressed her sweaty hands against her thighs and studied the ceiling. Yeah, concentrating was overrated. It wasn't helping her at all.

Wisely, Jim kept his mouth closed although a multitude of questions were begging to be voiced. He knew better than to unleash them. Instead, he watched Trixie with an intensity she didn't appear to notice out of the corner of his eye and missed absolutely nothing. She was holding herself perfectly still, an odd sight for one who was generally a bundle of unharnessed energy. She wasn't smiling, far from it. In fact, she seemed to be holding an interesting mental conversation with herself, one that she appeared to be losing. And she wouldn't acknowledge his presence. It didn't take someone with an impressive amount of credits in college courses in psychology to figure out she was holding onto the threads of her temper with an impressive will of iron. Great, he figured with a sarcastic arch of an eyebrow. Things were going to go extremely smooth once they reached his room and she was able to give that temper free reign.

When the doors dinged open, finally bringing an end to the longest elevator ride in history, he took immediate charge. "This way," he directed, his voice rough, gravelly and filled with false authority. He grabbed hold of her elbow and was slightly shocked when she didn't pull away from him but allowed him to lead her down the hall.

Because there were a few people in the hall, Trixie found the strength within to make her lips tilt upwards into what past for a semblance of a smile. There was no way she could engage in any kind of conversation, not even for the benefit of their ruse, should any of the people in the hallway report back to Mr. Young, which she highly doubted. At that moment, she didn't particularly care. When they reached his room, she did have the presence of mind to pull out her cell phone while Jim slid in his key card. She held it at the ready to scan the suite, just in case the room should come with some extra electronic devices in it. Again, highly doubtful, but she wasn't willing to take any chances, especially for the conversation they were about to have.

Jim quickly ushered her inside. The sound of the door closing seemed extremely loud in the overpowering quiet of the room. He started forward, only to stop when Trixie didn't move any farther than the entrance of the room. He turned around and frowned at her, puzzled, and unable to figure out why she was looking down at her cell phone in her hand. She was calling someone? Now? His bewilderment came through in his question. "What are you doing?"

She waited until the phone declared the entire area free and clear of any type of listening or viewing devices. "We're good," she muttered under her breath, her only answer, and continued to stare at the cell.

"We're good? For what?" His frown deepened when she didn't answer, only continued to ignore him. Confusion didn't sit well on his broad shoulders. It never had. He took a deep breath and tried again. The need to know what was going on was becoming stronger by the moment. Now that they were alone, he figured it was the best time to discover the answers to his many questions. "Trixie, you've got to help me out here. What exactly happened downstairs?"

The simple question shook away her untimely and unwarranted preoccupation with her cell. She dropped it into her purse and slowly twirled around on her thin heels until she faced him. She didn't take notice of the luxurious suite or all the wonderful benefits it contained. It didn't register on her that her original hotel room was the same size as the living room. Instead, she concentrated on placing her purse on the nearest chair with the utmost of care and stealthily approached him until they were practically toe to toe. The blue of her eyes snapped with frustration, the kind that was demanding to be released. She needed some kind of an outlet and he was a convenient one. A hand slapped her hip while another slashed through the air. Going quickly on the offense, she demanded, her words coming out on a low, slightly intimidating, snarl, "You tell me. What the hell did you think you were doing down there?"

During the long ride up he'd wondered what their meeting would be like in the privacy of his room. Amazingly enough, he hadn't expected a full verbal attack from her. Stupid, he realized with an inner sigh. Since he didn't have a plan on how to counteract it, he carefully and neutrally went with the only course available. Schooling his features, he answered in a calm and collected tone that only managed to fire the flames even more, "Helping you out."

"Helping me out? Helping me out? You were helping me out?" She didn't care that she was repeating herself or that her voice started to raise an octave or two higher than normal. "You've got to be kidding me." Her mouth bowed open. A slender finger came up and practically drilled a hole into the center of his chest. "Oh, come on, Jim. Didn't you have a clue, a smidgeon of an iota, that you shouldn't have been there? That I was in the middle of an assignment? I mean, wasn't it blatantly obvious?"

"No," he answered truthfully and watched her warily when she threw her hands up in the air. A smart man, he took a wide step back from the petite mound of bubbling fury in front of him and fingered the place on his chest she had recently poked. "I didn't know." He didn't offer any other type of explanation since his defense was paltry at best. To put it plainly, her presence in the bar had simply stunned him. He hadn't been able to see behind it. There was no way in hell he was going to give life to those words.

"Take a good look at me, Jim, a good, long, hard look." She stared at him in acute disbelief, her eyes widening until they looked like huge orbs of pure sapphire. Hands fluttered in front of her body, emphasizing her outfit. "In case you're too masculine to realize it, I'd be glad to point it out to you. I'm wearing a ton of make-up, high heels that are absolutely killing my feet, a dress that's trying hard to cut off my circulation, the ugliest ring in the entire world, and enough hairspray to put a hole the size of Montana in the ozone layer." She paused and sucked in a deep, almost painful breath. "Tell me. What part of me looks normal?"

It took an iron will not to follow the directions of her hands. Realizing he'd have an extremely hard time staying sane, especially during an important conversation, he kept his attention squarely on her face. "Of course I realized that you looked different, once I really thought about it. What shocked me the most was your presence in the bar. I guess you could say that blindsided me. It didn't occur to me until after your, ah, _friend_ showed up that things weren't exactly what they seemed or that I shouldn't have approached you. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have talked to you if I'd realized it all sooner."

Damn him. Not only did he have a good, strong and extremely valid point, now he had the audacity to apologize. With those two little words he took the righteous indignation right out of her sails, neatly and completely. She couldn't indulge in it any further, not without turning herself into the biggest shrew around. High on fury that didn't have any possible outlet, she whirled around and flounced away, her hands moving a mile a minute while she mumbled indecipherable phrases to and at herself. When she reached the end of the living room, she dropped her head against the smoothness of the wall and closed her eyes tightly, hoping it would all go away. Unfortunately, it didn't. When she opened her eyes, everything was still there. This nightmare was all too real.

Jim didn't budge an inch from his spot. Not a single move of hers escaped his attention. He almost expected her to bang her head against the wall. The sight of her with bent head and slumped shoulders affected him, made him wish he could appease her in some way. Going with it, he said in the gentle tones that a parent used when attempting to soothe an unhappy child, "Trix, there's nothing to worry about here. It's not that bad. We got out of the bar, safe and sound. We're here, safe and sound. That Ritch fellow downstairs didn't have a clue that we weren't who we claimed to be. Everything's fine."

Her words came back muffled as she spoke to the wall, her back to him. "You're right. Gleeps, I know you are, Jim. It was a tight situation we managed to get ourselves out of." Just like a few in the long ago past. Trixie tried not to recall the shared times from their adolescent years. She was almost afraid to remember them. The memories were too good, too sweet, and more than a little too painful. A good portion of her frustrated anger towards him started to dissipate into the air. Because she didn't have her temper to fortify her any longer, she murmured quietly, needing to give praise where it was due, "You need to be proud of yourself, Jim. You really handled yourself well down there." She didn't want to think about what could have happened if either one of them had made a mistake.

"Thanks, Trix. You made it pretty easy for me to follow your lead." With her being the most amicable towards him since they'd arrived in the suite, Jim moved across the room and didn't stop until he was right behind to her. After pushing aside a large vase of fresh, colorful flowers, he sat down slowly on the top of a decorative table but didn't speak until she lifted her head and glanced at him over a tanned shoulder. "It's easy to see that what happened downstairs has put you into a bit of a quandary. What are we going to do about it now?"

A self-deprecating smile slashed its way across her face. Her answering chuckle carried no mirth to it. Her first failure. It sucked knowing that she wasn't going to be successful this time around. Softly, she answered, "The answer's simple, Jim. We're leaving Vegas as soon as I can have it arranged."

"What do you mean? We have to leave?" He drew back, both perplexed and disappointed. A little inner voice mocked him and told him why the news upset him. It was simple. He didn't want to leave. It didn't have any reason to do with finishing out his forced vacation or a desire to fulfill his promise to help out his mother's friend. No, he wanted to stay because he wanted to be with…her. His mouth went dry at the realization.

She blew out an aggrieved breath, stared up at the ceiling, and attempted to smooth a hand over her hair. The crunchiness of the curls caused her to stifle a groan. She slowly turned around, her face the most serious he had ever seen it. "Jim, we can't stay here. We have to leave. Tonight. You have no idea what you've inserted yourself into. No idea at all."

Arms crossed over his wide chest, he stared at her, unblinking, and waited for her to look directly at him. It took a full minute before she did. Then, with emerald green cutting deep into sapphire blue, he demanded, "Clue me in then, Trixie. What exactly was going on down there?"

Regret shot through her. As much as she wanted to offer him some kind of an explanation, as much as she felt that he more than deserved one, she couldn't, not without clearance first. Her hands pressed backwards against the sturdy wall, needing its support, as she regretfully answered, "I can't tell you. You have to know that I'm not allowed to discuss cases with anyone who is not part of my agency."

"Make an exception this time," Jim shot back, believing he had earned an explanation this time around.

Before Trixie could formulate an answer, the door connecting Jim's suite with the next room popped open, surprising both of them. They jumped at the unexpected interruption. Max closed the door behind him with a small grin and offered apologetically, "Hello, guys. Sorry to interrupt your little tête-à-tête. I got here as soon as I could." He didn't share the fact that he'd manufactured a reservation in the room right next door to Jim's so that he would have easy and undetectable access to his partner or that he'd just finished creating a quick bio for one James Hart. It was now out on the internet, should anyone care to search for it. He definitely didn't share the interesting and informative phone call he'd recently held with Chief Ogilvie, who had definite ideas on how the present situation should be resolved. One look at Trixie told him that the Chief's conclusion wasn't going to be met with much enthusiasm on her part.

A new target. One who had taken quite a part in the failed first meeting. Trixie's eyes narrowed into thin slits while she prepared to take out some of her pent-up frustrations on her partner. "Now you show up," she said into the air, the four words more powerful and insulting than anything else she could have thought up.

Max only lifted a brow in response. Jim jumped in before Trixie could lose her rather shaky control over her own temper. He could practically feel it radiating off of her. He walked over to the connecting door, studied the lock and looked curiously at Max. "How did you get in here? Wasn't it locked?"

Because he didn't want to face Trixie right now, Max blissfully ignored her and followed Jim over to the door. He fished out a special tool from his pocket and handed it over, grinning when Jim took it from his hands. "Of course it was locked. It was merely a simple matter of Lock Picking 101. It's a course everyone should take, don't you know. This trusty little baby right here can get me into pretty much anywhere I want to go. I can show you how, if you'd like."

Trixie threw up her hands when Jim started inspecting the thin silver tool. First the debacle downstairs. Then her inability to settle the situation to her satisfaction. And now the sudden insertion of her actual partner into the muddled mess, a partner who was only about an hour and a half too late. Because she prided herself on being able to control her temper when on any assignment and that said temper was fast moving from simmer to boil again, she decided it was past time to take herself out of the equation. The need for fresh air and a bit of private space was vital. Stalking over to the sliding glass door, completely overlooking the other two men in the room, she slid it open and stomped her way out onto the generously-sized terrace. It closed behind her with more force than necessary, obviously telling the men they were not to try and join her in her enforced solitude.

Max lifted both eyebrows at her speedy exit. Tucking his tongue neatly into his cheek, he stated, pokerfaced, "You know, something tells me that she wants to be alone."

"Would never have picked up on that," Jim replied, surprising himself with his quick rejoinder. It was something he'd say to another Bob-White, not to someone he barely knew. It shocked him to have the simple ease with Trixie's partner, of all people, someone he'd heard a little about over the years but had never actually met.

A sharp bark of laughter burst out of his mouth. Max had never been able to decide how he felt about Jim Frayne, given the fact that the man had broken his protégé's young heart many years earlier. Since observing him step up to the plate and assisting Trixie downstairs out of a very tricky and potentially dangerous situation, his perception was finally starting down a more favorable track. He took back his lock-picking tool, slipped it into his pocket, and shared, "She rarely lets her temper get the better of her. I think she was tested more than she expected to be downstairs. The tension must finally have gotten to her."

"I was trying to get her to tell me what happened in the bar but she said that she can't. Can you?" Jim posed the question, hoping for a more satisfactory answer than the one Trixie recently gave him.

"It's simple and can be tied up nicely in a rather trite but true phrase. Wrong place, wrong time. You were a victim of it, my friend." Max clapped Jim on the shoulder and let out a deep, amused chortle. "You have absolutely terrible timing."

"You could say that again," Jim muttered to himself, thinking that the man summed it up quite nicely. "But you still haven't answered my question. Are you going to?"

"Not right now. I need to talk to my partner first. Since she's using the rather uncomfortable late afternoon Nevada heat to help her cool down some, I think I'm going to have a rather long wait." Max walked over to the bar and pulled out a little sealed pony-sized bottle of whiskey. A little sip of something strong was definitely needed. Hopefully it would help clear his mind and give him the strength to tell Trixie what he needed to tell her. She wasn't going to like it. He'd be lucky if he left the room with his head still attached. "Do you mind?"

Jim shook his head and glanced towards the terrace. His fingers itched to move back the curtain, to get a full view of Trixie. All he could see was her outline, right in front of the wrought iron railing. "Be my guest," he murmured, distracted by the sight.

"Appreciate it." Max broke the seal but didn't take his first sip. Shrewdly, he observed the other man observing his partner. Yet another thing to add to what he already knew about Jim Frayne. Not only could the man act when the situation called for it, he also possessed some extremely strong feelings for the woman out on the terrace. Interesting tidbit, he mused quietly, and wondered if Trixie realized it. Probably not. He cleared his throat and waited until Jim turned back around. "By the way, we haven't been formally introduced yet. I'm Max Donovan, the tardy partner and the reason why we're all in this rather interesting predicament right now."

"Jim Frayne." He accepted the hand and shook it, pleased to note that Max had a very firm grip. "Why were you late or can't you answer that question, either?" His tone contained a slight edge to it.

"There's no harm in answering that one," Max said, one lip curling up in wry amusement. He hadn't missed the edge. "I was supposed to meet Trixie at her house this morning and fly to Vegas with her. Unfortunately, my unborn baby had different ideas. Did you know that my wife and I were expecting?"

Jim nodded his head. "Trixie mentioned something about that after we saw you talking to her outside the diner in White Plains a few months ago." He didn't admit how relieved the news had made him. Jealousy was not a favorite emotion of his.

"I remember that day." Did he ever. Jim had spent a good portion of their talk inside the diner, watching them through the large window and fingering his butter knife. Max wisely chose not to bring it up although his lips did twitch with barely suppressed humor before the memory of his night came back to him. It sobered him instantly. "Anyway, we had an unexpected midnight scare last night. Jocelyn woke me up out of a sound sleep, in pain and scared out of her mind. We ended up spending a good portion of the night at the emergency room. The doctor saw us right away and after examining Joss declared that it was all simple Braxton-Hicks contractions, nothing to be scared or concerned about. She was released in the mid-morning. Once she was settled back at home, Joss ordered me away but I didn't leave until a good friend of ours arrived. Heidi's spending the next few days with her, to keep an eye on her until I get back." It was the only way he'd agree to leave his wife who had been adamant about him getting to Vegas to help out Trixie. She hadn't wanted to leave their friend out in the cold.

"I'm glad everything worked out for you and your wife." Jim tucked his hands into his pockets, finding it odd to know something extremely personal about Trixie's friends from California. They had always been mere names to him, nothing more, nothing less. Never had he thought he'd ever know more about them, let alone meet one of them face-to-face. It shocked him even more to realize that he could actually like one of them.

"Oh, it's more than okay. We got an early ultrasound out of the deal." The grin spread, splitting his face in half. He rocked back on his heels, absolutely delighted with the news. "Turns out we're having a boy."

"Hey, congratulations. That's wonderful." Jim couldn't help but smile back. The other man's excitement was contagious.

"We're thrilled." Although it wouldn't have mattered to him if their baby was a girl, he couldn't help but be excited by the presence of that little something extra on the ultrasound picture. It was with a quick shake of his head that he was brought back into the present. "As I said before, Joss forced me to come here. She didn't want Trixie to be on her own. This is also my last assignment. I'm resigning from the agency once it's finished." He ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed. "It was supposed to be an easy one."

Jim remarked sarcastically; again, as if he was speaking to a fellow Bob-White, "I think you can kiss that supposition good-bye."

"You've got that right." Max couldn't hold back another burst of laughter. Without a doubt, it wasn't going to be easy. The way he and the Chief saw it, they only had two options. Pack up and leave or…the second one was more appealing than he originally thought and the one the Chief clearly favored. He studied the redhead appraisingly, recalling the reports of how he'd helped Trixie out during her early years. Maybe, he pondered, tapping a finger along his knee. Maybe it would work. The Chief firmly believed it could and he was rarely, if ever, wrong.

Because he didn't have a clue what to do next, Jim walked over to the bar and pulled out a soda. After popping the top, he took a sip. The taste of the sweetly carbonated drink didn't register as it traveled down his throat. Instead, he brought up the million dollar question. "What's going to happen now?"

Max lifted a muscled shoulder. No way was he sharing his thoughts with Jim before talking it over with Trixie first. She'd kill him. "We're going to have to focus small at the moment. Trixie's things are still in her original room. We need to get them here as soon as possible. Are you interested in going after them?"

"Yeah. That's not a problem." He put the unfinished soda down on a table, unmindful of the ring it could leave behind, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Good. It makes the most sense for you to retrieve her items. Ritch and his friends shouldn't know that I'm connected with Trixie so I'm clearly out, as are the rest of our team. Knowing Trixie the way that I do, I doubt she's unpacked so it should be simple. All you'll need to do is pick up the clothes she dropped on the floor, check the hotel safe in her room for a few personal items, and zip her suitcases closed." As he talked and gave out directions, Max strode over to Trixie's purse and started looking through it. He pulled out the key card and held it out to Jim. "Here's her key."

Doing something, anything, was better than waiting for Trixie to come back in. He nodded his agreement and accepted the key. "All right. I'll go get her things." Besides, he realized with an inward shrug, it would give Trixie and Max the valuable alone time they needed to talk. Maybe then he'd be able to find out what was truly going on. A slight scowl settled on his face. Neither of them seemed willing to tell him anything.

"Wait, Frayne. You'll need this, too. She'll have put some of her things in the safe." He realized she would have put the most pertinent information to her identity in the secured hotel safe; the first place anyone searching the room would look. He offered the scrap of paper with the combination to the safe scrawled across it.

Jim looked down and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he stared Max squarely in the eyes. "It should take me about ten minutes to get her things and get back here. Will that give you enough time to get things settled with Trixie or should I waste a little more time?"

No wonder Trixie still had strong feelings for the man. He didn't miss a trick. "Ten minutes should be fine," Max answered unapologetically. "I'll get her inside once you leave. We shouldn't need that long to start putting our strategy together. We'll let you know what's going on once everything's been settled."

Jim headed towards the door. "I'd like an answer to my question once I get back," he called out over his shoulder.

"Don't worry. You'll get one," Max promised and waited until the door closed. Then he strode swiftly over to the terrace and slide that door open. "Come inside, Trixie," he ordered and motioned for her to come back in. "It's time. We need to talk."

Trixie immediately searched out Jim the second she reentered the room. "Where did he go?" She cocked her head and stared down the hallway but couldn't hear any noise. "Is he still here?"

Choosing to ignore her question, Max sat down on the comfortable sectional and leaned back against the soft leather. The shrewd gleam in his eyes contrasted drastically with his relaxed posture. "Man, I could get used to this."

She aimed a killer of a glare at him. "Enough, Max. I don't have the patience for the run-around right now. My supply is nearly gone. Where is Jim?"

"He went to collect your things," Max explained and braced himself for her reaction.

"Excuse me?" Trixie tilted her head to the side. Her lips felt like they were in a perpetual frown. The calmness she started to experience outside was rapidly disappearing at an alarming rate to her psyche. "Why on earth would he be doing that?"

Max stayed on the sofa and chided her gently. "Trixie, there isn't much of a choice, is there?"

"Humph," blew out of her lips. Really, what else was there to say? Because her feet were aching, she reached down and focused on undoing the thin straps. She kicked the shoes into an untidy heap and flopped down onto the opposite end of the large sectional. The thick carpeting underneath felt much better on her poor abused arches. She curled her feet into it and nearly groaned. Instant relief.

"Articulate this evening, aren't we, Belden?" Max couldn't resist poking at her.

"Shut up." Trixie lifted her head and glowered at him, her normal response when he was starting to get annoying. "What are we going to do, Max?"

The question held a weariness to it he wasn't accustomed to hearing from her. Perturbed, he sent a narrowed gaze her way. "The ball is in your court, Trixie. After I broke into the hotel's computer and manufactured a reservation for the room right next door to Jim Hart's, I took a few minutes to have a chat with our Chief. He's already been apprised of the mishap." He ignored a small gasp from her and stated quietly, "He's leaving the call up to you."

"We're done, then." Trixie melted into the leather and wearily closed her eyes. She didn't see any hope of salvaging the mission. As far as she was concerned, Jim had to leave. The sooner, the better. There wasn't another alternative. She wasn't going to play around with his safety.

"Maybe," he murmured very, very softly, so softly she wasn't sure she heard him correctly. Before she could question him, he continued on, "The way I see it, we have two options available. We can pack up and leave, exactly as you just stated. Your man Frayne would have to leave with us, of course. He wouldn't be allowed to stay behind. Or…" He didn't finish it, waited for her to take the bait with interest gleaming in his eyes.

"Or?" Trixie questioned haltingly, hating to encourage him. She didn't want to hear the other option. She really didn't. It took all of her control not to cringe. She prepared herself for what was coming next.

"Or, with your stamp of approval and Frayne's unconditional support, we could save the mission and go on with it." He watched her closely. "Frayne would continue to act as your fiancé. I would be demoted and join Shane and the rest of the back-up team. We would continue to monitor your every move from the sidelines. You two work together to gain Young's trust, you make the deal, and then the two of you walk away, exactly as we had planned. No big deal, right?"

Yeah, there was no doubt about it. Her face was seriously going to freeze in a permanent and unpleasant frown. "Wrong. It's a very big deal," she hissed and reached out across the wide expanse of black leather. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. "You seem to forget that Jim is not an agent, Max. He's a civilian. He's not supposed to be involved. In anything. In fact, our agency excels at keeping our profession a true and complete secret. There is no other option but to call it quits."

"You're wrong, Trixie. Very wrong." His words were simple but rang with an undeniable clearness. He carefully shook away her hold and waited until she was staring back at him before dropping his bomb. "The Chief doesn't have a problem with it. He told me so when I updated him on what happened downstairs. While it's true that Frayne is a civilian, he would be kept safe at all times. He's got you, one of our very best, protecting him, and a whole back-up team led by yours truly behind him. The mission doesn't have to be cancelled. It could still be done. All you've got to do is agree to it."

It would be a cold day in hell before that happened. As far as she was concerned, they were going home. "Max," she began warningly.

He held up his hand, halting her next flow of words. "No need to go on, Trixie. I know what you're going to say. Jim thinks you're a private investigator and that you work for an agency out of San Diego." It wasn't anywhere close to what she wanted to say but he needed to clear up that little issue. He lowered his voice and shared, "He doesn't ever need to know any different. We can tell him we're completing an assignment for a client and share the barest of minimums with him, just enough so that he knows what's going on. He never needs to know the whole truth."

"Max," she broke in again, her voice gaining in volume and her eyes spearing into him with their glacial chill. In direct contrast, bright red flags burned in her cheeks.

He continued on easily as if he couldn't practically hear the grinding of her teeth, "I know. I know. It's not only our agency you're concerned about. You've got another worry, too. It has to be the lack of background information available on one James Hart, right?" He leaned forward and tapped her forearm in what should have been a comforting gesture but instead set her further on edge, exactly as he knew it would. "Stop worrying. There's no need. I've already started it. We'll have the completed information up, running and ready for him to peruse and commit to memory very soon. A good bit is already out there on the internet. In fact, it's already received a few hits, most likely from your contact downstairs."

"Max!" she exploded and pulled her arm away from him. Pointing a finger at him, she declared haughtily, "What you're proposing is not going to work. He's a corporate lawyer, for goodness sake, not a highly trained agent. He is not used to lying or trying to convince others that he is exactly what they think he is and not what he actually is." Her words came to a tumbling, stumbling stop. They confused even her. She breathed in deeply and calmly, hoping to ease her frustrations. "This is the bottom line, Max. No. I'm telling you right know that it is not going to work."

He countered her objections with the smoothness he was known for. "The Chief believes it can. Your man Frayne is going to have you there, right beside him, guiding him through it all." Max drew in a breath before adding, "He also strikes me as someone who doesn't like to make mistakes. If he agrees to help continue posing as your fiancé, he won't make one. I'd be willing to bet on it."

Her grudging silence was her only agreement. Her attention focused completely on the carpet at her feet while she declared quietly, "There's one thing I know about Jim Frayne. He doesn't lie, Max. He doesn't like to do it. It's in his make-up. He's too honorable. He won't want to pretend to be something he's not. Fake name, fake history, fake fiancée." Fake fiancée. How that phrase hurt. She sucked in a jagged breath, stunned at the sharpness of the pain. Her next words rushed out. "He's not going to go for it."

He'd be willing to, of that Max had not a doubt. If it kept him close to Trixie, Frayne would be more than willing to lie or pretend. The chemistry the two shared had been nearly tangible. The two didn't have to work at it. It was simply just there. It'd be quite a remarkable asset to their mission and would certainly convince their mark that the pair was desperately in love and assist them in earning his trust. "I don't know him as well as you do, Trixie, but I think you'll be surprised if we decide to ask him. He'll say yes."

Her mouth settled into a thin, mutinous line. "I know him better than you do. He won't do it. Prepare yourself, Max. We'll be going home tonight."

Arguing was going to be fruitless. In the long run, it would be better for Trixie to hear her answer from the man himself. Max lifted a broad shoulder. "All he's got to do is remember his new background information, put on a good act, and make Mr. Young think that he's desperately in love with you and wants to marry you. He's a smart man. I believe he can handle it."

Her face flamed even brighter. Therein lay the problem. She'd have to act like she was in love with him, too. This, she admitted with a pang straight to her heart, wasn't all that hard to do since she'd never stopped loving him. The brief kiss she'd instigated in the bar was enough to remind her of the depths of her feelings. Continuing on with Jim was an extremely dangerous game for her to even consider, let alone agree to. "He's still not an agent," she contended fiercely.

"No, he's not," he agreed affably, choosing not to call her out on the telltale blush. All business, just as he needed to be to convince her, he reiterated, "All he needs to know is that he stepped into some kind of an investigation run by our private investigative agency. He doesn't have a clue about you, Trixie, or about the reality of our work. It could work. It could work really well."

"Whether it could or not is not the point. I'm not going to play games with Jim's life. My mind's made up." She punctuated her words by crossing her arms over her chest and declared fiercely, "I am not going to do it."

"All right," Max remarked merrily, hiding an inward grin. He was about to checkmate her but he'd be damned before he'd gloat in front of her. She wouldn't appreciate it…and it would be mean, to boot. He liked and respected her and her abilities too much to play the victory card. "I can see your decision's made and that I won't be able to change it. Looks like we'll be packing up then." He thoughtfully handed his cell over to Trixie. "The Chief's waiting for your answer. He'll make all the arrangements we need from the main office. You can tell him that we'll be back in San Diego before the sun comes up."

She gingerly accepted the cell phone. The tiny item felt like it weighed a ton in her hand. "Damn it," she grouched, slouching down against the leather, defeated. An ugly grimace played across her face. "And damn you, Max. You know I won't be able to tell him no."

"Exactly." Max grinned unrepentantly at her. "You should know our Chief better than that by now. He doesn't want you to say no, Trixie. He expects you to say yes."

"So much for leaving the decision up to me." She heaved herself off the sectional and started marching towards the doorway.

"Sorry about that. The Chief was very clear. He wants the mission to continue if at all possible. He knew you'd understand and agree to it." Max came out of his seat and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's got a lot of faith in you, Belden. So do I. You can make it work."

Professionally, it made her feel good to know that her superiors appreciated her work. However, the situation didn't allow for the words of praise to warm her. Just the opposite. "I'll only agree to it on one condition. Jim has to say yes, without any prodding from you. That's what I'll tell our Chief." Without a word of goodbye, she stomped out of the room, dreading the upcoming phone call. She walked as far away from the living room as she could get and settled in the large bedroom before dialing up the familiar number.

Max waited until she left before he started chuckling. He figured he'd laughed more in the past hour than he ever had on any of his past missions. "Oh, I don't think there's going to be any doubt about that, Trixie. He's going to say yes," he whispered to himself and shook his head. He shot to immediate attention when the door handle turned and glanced down at his watch. "Right on time."

Jim walked back into the room, dragging the suitcases behind him. Like Trixie had done a few minutes earlier, he immediately scanned the room, looking for her. Lines of worry settled on his forehead when he couldn't see her on the terrace or in the room. "Where's Trixie?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"Probably back in the bedroom," Max answered cheerfully. "She's talking to our boss right now and apprising him again of the change in our situation. She'll receive her orders soon." He didn't let on that he knew what the orders were going to be. Instead, he unobtrusively used Trixie's cell to scan the bags. Satisfied that they didn't contain anything extra but the articles of clothing within, he whistled his way over to the bar and finally picked up the tiny pony bottle of whiskey. He downed it in one big grateful gulp.

Jim's first instinct was to find her in the bedroom and discover once and for all what was really going on. A glance down at the suitcases showed him that he possessed the excuse to do it. Something kept him back from it, most likely the memory of how Trixie had slammed onto the terrace after they made it to the room. As much as he wanted to find out what was going on, it would be better if he'd wait for her to come to him. He ended up joining Max and finishing his beverage from earlier.

Her heels dragged during the walk back to the living room. The Chief had been very pleased and supportive of her decision to offer Jim the option of continuing their mission. Her decision, Trixie thought with an inward sneer of sheer sarcasm. Right. She hadn't been left with much of a choice. The only person in this whole rambling mess who did have a choice was standing in the living room. She could hear his deep, rumbling voice as he conversed with Max. If Jim agreed, the mission would move forward, with Trixie acting not only as his partner but also his bodyguard and the rest of the team offering their full, unconditional support, too. She'd been extremely clear to the Chief on that front. Jim's safety had to be put before hers. At all times. However, if he decided not to pursue their charade, then they would all be leaving Las Vegas within the hour. She stopped right at the entrance way to the living room, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, as if she was preparing to enter a battle scene instead of a normal, comfortable living room.

Jim knew to the second the moment she came back into the room. One quick glance showed that she appeared to be the calmest she had been all evening. For some reason, that made him more nervous than if she was still riding out the wave of her earlier fury. "I got everything from your room," he said after he realized he was rudely staring at her, feeling like an absolute idiot.

A slow smile danced over and across her lips before slipping off. "Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it." She crossed over to Max and handed him the cell phone.

"How did it go?" Max inquired innocently even though he was already aware of the content of the conversation. He wanted Trixie to get it out in the open, for Jim to understand what was going on. He sat down on the sectional with a loud sigh, showing Trixie that he wasn't going to fade into the background or allow her to bring Jim up to date in private. Whether she wanted him to be or not, he was going to be present for the offer.

She realized the ploy immediately. She'd rather been hoping he would leave but it seemed like today her hopes weren't being taken into consideration at all. Her hastily concocted plan of sharing only half the information with Jim, of not even offering him the chance to stay and work with her but telling him that they were all supposed to leave as soon as they could possibly arrange it, obviously wasn't going to work now. Judging from the stupid male grin of pure satisfaction on Max's face, he'd already realized her true intentions. She barely resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him and turned to face Jim instead. "Our Chief understood our current predicament. He offered us a couple of options."

Jim rested against the wall, ankles and arms crossed in a deceptively negligent pose. His piercing gaze followed Trixie's every movement while he hid his surprise at the way she included him in her statement. Our. Us. It left him feeling very interested…and, dare he admit it, curious. "What are the options?"

"We could leave. All of us," she stressed, making sure that he knew he was included in the departure. "Head back home and forget the whole thing ever happened. We'd leave right now, of course. He already has a set of departure plans ready for us in case that's what we decide to do." Trixie didn't look right at him as she said the words because she didn't want to see his reaction. Instead, she picked nervously at a loose thread on her thin sparkly sweater in a vain attempt to put off the inevitable.

"Or?" Max prompted when Trixie didn't immediately continue. He didn't miss the quick flare of disappointment rush across Jim's face and realized his guess was right on the money. Feeling relieved, he leaned back against the sofa and spread his arms over the back. Now he merely had to witness how Trixie was going to handle it.

She wished she had something handy to toss at him. A pillow, a shoe, maybe a brick. Anything that would tell him it was time to tone it down and leave her alone. There were times when Max and his sarcastic sense of humor drove her absolutely crazy. She fleetingly wondered how Jocelyn put up with it. "Or we could continue," she said lowly, finally bringing her eyes up to meet Jim directly.

Jim let out a slow expulsion of breath. His heart started to slow down. The feeling of dread that had overtaken him when she voiced their first choice of leaving swiftly vanished like morning mist on a hot summer day. He didn't have a clue how they could continue, couldn't offer a single prediction, but, if continuing meant a little more time with Trixie, a little more alone time without the rest of their family and friends about, it would all be worth it. He didn't question but watched Max and Trixie intently as they continued to talk.

"How could we continue? I won't be able to pose as your fiancé anymore. You know that. Our man Ritch has already met you and Frayne downstairs, as Hart, of course. The only way it would work is if…Oh, I see." Max rubbed his chin, in apparent deep contemplation. All the while little lights of delight danced in his eyes. "It wouldn't be me. It would have to be you…and him." Max turned and offered a look of sham innocence at Jim.

Trixie gritted her teeth, wanting to strangle Max. "That is the other option. If Jim agrees, we could continue on with him acting as my fiancé until the two of us make the deal," she muttered, her delivery of the offer as unexcited and unenthusiastic as she could get.

Jim straightened against the wall, suddenly extremely interested with the discussion going on. "Are there any other possibilities?" he wondered after digesting the information.

Trixie gave a tiny negative shake of her head. "Nope. None. All or nothing. It's either leave now or move forward with your full support, Jim." She couldn't bring herself to ask him for his answer. In fact, she was looking everywhere but at him again. "If you decide to stay on with us, you would have to learn a whole new background and lie convincingly about yourself. We can't afford to have anyone make a mistake."

Through narrowed eyes, Jim couldn't help but notice Trixie's preoccupation with everything in the room but him. It bothered him until he realized she was nervous. Very nervous. Extremely nervous. Why that suddenly made him feel better he couldn't tell but it did. He kept his mouth closed, didn't offer a hint about what he wanted to do, and waited for one of them to approach him.

When it became apparent that Trixie wasn't going to ask Jim for his decision, Max rolled his eyes heavenward and pushed himself off the sofa. "It seems that the fate of our mission lies completely in your competent hands," he quipped humorously to Jim. "What do you say? Are you willing to turn in Frayne for Hart? Do you want to try it out or send us home?"

Trixie bit her bottom lip. For the first time since she explained the options to him, her eyes slid back towards his. Brilliant blue to glinting green. In that one moment it felt like they were the only two people in the room. No, no, no, her mind screamed at him, willing him to give that answer.

Her favored choice was stamped plainly across her overly expressive face. For some unknown reason, it made him want to agree to it even more. Maybe he wanted to prove to her that he could competently hold up his end in her professional world. Maybe he didn't want to leave Las Vegas after only being there for a few short hours. Or, as he reluctantly admitted to himself, maybe the thought of spending a lot more time with Trixie, even when they were both pretending to be someone else, appealed to him more than he'd ever thought possible. In fact, the thought made the blood start humming through his veins and kicked up his heart rate. They would be alone, in this room, with no one else around. Intriguing.

"Frayne?" Max prompted again, breaking the intense visual connection between the two. "It's your choice. What would you like to do? Help us out or leave? Go or stay?"

One word came out; one word that made Max chuckle again and Trixie lose a little color in her face. "Stay," he answered forcefully, almost as if he was daring her to contradict him.

Immensely pleased with his choice, Max came to stand by Trixie but, for her sake, he didn't gloat. "Well, that's just fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. Don't you think so, Belden?" Beaming, he nudged her with an elbow and waited for her answer.

She found it within to force a tiny smile onto her face. "Fabulous," she replied, meaning the exact opposite. Her job was generally stressful enough. Having Jim as a willing and unexpected partner made it even more so.

Because Trixie's response could be termed lukewarm at best, Max responded with much more good humor than was needed. "Thanks for agreeing to do this, Frayne. You should know that you saved a blemish from Belden's impeccable record with the agency here." He laid an arm over Trixie's shoulder and squeezed. Intentionally, he dropped the name of their cover organization, wanting Jim to firmly believe that they were nothing more than simple private investigators out to perform a routine job. "She's gone her entire career as a P.I. with Anderson, Donnelly and Christopher without ever losing a case. I'm delighted to say that her amazing track record is going to remain intact, thanks to you," he remarked jovially. "We, and our entire agency, owe you our collective gratitude."

She couldn't argue with that. Because she needed to say something, she managed to squeak out a small, "Thanks, Jim." To her own ears, it didn't sound all that grateful or appreciative.

"No problem." Jim would have to have been an idiot not to pick up on the fact that Trixie wasn't exactly overly ecstatic or enthusiastic about his decision to stay. Amazingly, it didn't bother him overly much. Instead, it made him answer Max's grin with one of his own. Nothing else mattered right now. He got what he wanted. He was going to be able to stay with Trixie.

"Now that's settled, we have to take care of some business." Suddenly completely serious, Max turned to Jim and informed him, "I'm going to need all of your personal items that could possibly have a link to your real identity. Laptop, cell phone, wallet, pictures, credit cards, a ring with your initials engraved on it, pictures. I need anything you currently have in your possession that could give them a hint that you're not who you say you are. We can't allow for any mistakes. They won't react nicely if they have even a hint of a suspicion that all is not what we present it to be."

Jim immediately took out his wallet and his cell and handed them over without questioning the request or asking for a dissertation on why it was necessary. The simple explanation was enough. He racked his brain for anything else he currently had with him. The only other thing he could come up with was his laptop. He gestured down the hall. "My laptop's in the bedroom. I'll, ah, go get it for you."

Surprised that he didn't even attempt to question the need to turn over his entire life, bemused that he did it all without so much as a complaint or a frown, Trixie watched him stride out of the room. The second he cleared the doorway, she rounded on her partner. "Max," she hissed out, grabbing his elbow and jerking him closer. "I'm going on record right now saying that I'm not in favor of this. This idea is ludicrous." She tossed back her head and glared at him. "I don't want to do it."

"Of course you don't," he countered back smoothly, pocketing the cell phone and wallet, immensely pleased with the results of the meeting. "But, as you and I have both learned countless times in our illustrious careers with the CDA, our personal preferences can't ever be taken into account. The success of the mission always overrides everything else. Always."

He paused a beat, letting the words settle, before declaring quietly, knowing that she wouldn't be able to offer up any type of argument once he was done, "You're a true professional. You're not going to settle for simply making the best of things. No, you're going to do your absolute best because you are a member of the CDA. We don't accept failure. You're living proof of that. You've never accepted failure, not in the seven years I've worked with you. Do what you're best at, Belden, and do it well."

A compliment and a dare, all in the same breath. It sank in, spurred her on, exactly as he'd expected it to. Grudgingly, Trixie nodded her head. Whether she agreed with them or not didn't matter. She now had her orders. She would see it through to the very best of her abilities. "You know you can count on me," she said, feeling as if there was a noose tightening around her neck.

"I have for seven years." Max gave her a light, friendly hug and whispered in her ear, "If anyone can handle this, it's you. Everything will work out just fine, Trixie. Don't dwell on it. Your Jim will have the best protection available. I'll be there, right behind you, and so will many other highly trained professionals. He'll be safe at all times. You have my promise."

A real smile, one full of thanks and gratitude, graced her face and she hugged him back, only to step back when Jim's muffled footsteps could be heard coming their way. "I'll hold you to it. Just don't let him get hurt," she mumbled under her breath.

"He won't." Max winked and turned to acknowledge Jim as he rejoined them. Louder, he said, "Don't worry about your stuff, Frayne. I'll do what I need to do to them and have them back to you in the morning. I'll also change it back to normal once our little escape from reality is finished, free of charge." He waited until Jim nodded his acceptance and took the laptop from him. After shouldering the bag, he gave the couple a two-fingered wave and opened the connecting door.

Before exiting, Max turned to study the couple one last time. An uncharacteristically edgy blonde. A surprisingly relaxed redhead. All in all, the next few days promised to be highly entertaining. At least the two had the entire evening and night to get their act together. He had all the faith in the world in his partner. She would succeed at it and make damn certain that her new partner did, too. "Remember, stay in the suite tonight, guys," he reminded them, causing both of them to look his way. "We don't want to give them the chance to look over your room tonight. Obviously, it's not ready. I'll be over in a short while with your new background information, Frayne. You and Trixie are both going to have to memorize it before tomorrow and give it back to me. You can also finally receive an answer to your earlier question. I'm giving Belden the clearance to go ahead and bring you completely up-to-date on our assignment here, too." A small wicked gleam entered his eyes when an expression that could only be termed as pained flittered briefly across Trixie's face. He gamely swallowed back his chuckle and slipped through the door. Next on his agenda was a quick call to his wife. He needed to find out how she was feeling. Then he'd update Jocelyn on the astonishing new state of the mission. After laughing about it with her, he'd get serious and get down to immediate business.

With Max gone, the air in the room suddenly felt disconcerting, oppressive and overwhelming. Trixie nervously clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her. In essence, she and Jim were in lockdown. Together. In a gorgeous luxurious suite in a five star hotel in Las Vegas. Worse, they had the entire evening together, with absolutely nothing to do but stay within the confines of his…no, she corrected herself harshly, their room. Oh, and she also had the added little chore of telling him the nature of their assignment. Even better, she was going to have to conceal some rather important and extremely vital information from him. Lies of omission. What fun, she thought with a sarcastic snort, and wildly searched for something to do to put the uncomfortable chore off, at least until she had a better handle on her emotions.

An image of the small exercise room she passed earlier on her way into the bedroom came back to her like a beautiful, beckoning beacon. She could run. The exercise would give her time to think, to plan, and to let her frustrations out in a much more acceptable way. She only hoped there was something suitable in her rather laughable luggage for exercising. Eyeing the offending suitcases, Trixie stalked over to one and grabbed its handle. "Excuse me. I'm going to use your exercise room," she muttered lowly, refusing to meet Jim's face. The unlucky suitcase obediently obeyed her vicious tug and trailed lopsidedly down the hallway as she half-dragged, half-wheeled it to the bedroom. After fighting it for nearly a full second, she gave in to the urge and closed the door. Hard. Much harder than necessary. The loud noise matched her mood perfectly.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Seven

Somewhere down the hall, a door closed and none too gently. The sharp noise made his eyebrows shoot straight up and tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She's not too happy," he noted and, in direct contrast to her rather tumultuous emotional state, began whistling his way in the opposite direction. The smile doubled in size when another door slammed even louder than the first one, immediately followed by the loud speakers of the radio. A pulsating beat could be heard through the walls, proving to him that the kitchen shared a wall with the exercise room, an extremely thin wall, and that his new…, ah, partner was not exactly thrilled about the change in her plans. He, on the other hand, was starting to like it more and more.

"And now she's trying to drown me out," he said out loud. The realization didn't bother him. If there was one person on this earth he understood, it was Trixie, even after all these years. There were years when the understanding was pushed deep below the surface, to that icy cold place where he pretended not to care, not to comprehend, and certainly not to feel. Now it was different and much more fascinating. They were in a different place, on a different plateau, and a different sort of relationship. He wasn't sure what to term them. Not quite friends but, with a quick quirk of fate, they were definitely workmates and, even more remarkable, roommates. Roommates. Even the word had the power to make his blood start to pump more fiercely through his veins.

Since he knew her, he realized she needed a considerable amount of time to get a handle on the new situation and her own temper, to learn to accept it and to deal with it, and that she needed to do it in private, he concentrated on searching through the cabinets. If exercising coupled with loud music helped her accept his new and unexpected position in her work life, he was one hundred percent in favor of it. Unaware that he was whistling again, a happy, jaunty nameless sort of a tune that conflicted dramatically with the heart pounding bass of the current song blasting from the stereo, he snagged the unopened container of coffee and competently made a fresh batch. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, it was going to be a long, and most likely sleepless, night for him. Chore done, he hooked out the leg of a stool to sit on and grabbed a set of room service menus to peruse while the smell of the fresh brew permeated the air. One thing he did know. He was hungry. If he kept a sharp eye out on the doorway, anticipating the moment of her arrival, which was stupid since the music showed exactly where she was, he didn't acknowledge it.

Forty-five minutes later, a hot, sweaty and flushed Trixie stepped off the treadmill, her grueling run over. After completely the obligatory stretches to keep her muscles from cramping up, she reached out and flicked off the stereo, effectively ending the last strands of Pink's _Raise Your Glass_. The room was suddenly and piercingly silent, almost jarringly so. The long run served its purpose. She was much calmer now and, she admitted frankly, ready to accept the change. For some godforsaken reason she couldn't begin to comprehend, Jim was now her new partner. She was going to make the best of it because that was simply what she did. But was she ready to face him? Rolling her eyes, she grabbed a fresh towel from a cabinet and patted away the generous beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. After tossing it aside, she paused in front of the door, almost as if she could find the answers written on its smooth wooden finish. Once she opened it, she would see him. It was inevitable. He was out there, in the suite, somewhere, most likely lying in wait for her reappearance. Sucking in a deep breath, she brushed aside a limp curl and straightened her shoulders. "I can do this," she told herself forcefully. "I've been in tougher situations than this before. I can handle working with Jim. I know I can." The words rang hollow; sounded more convincing than she actually felt.

She scowled down at the bright yellow spandex top that adhered to her torso and matching athletic combination skirt and short set, the only exercise clothes she'd been able to unearth in her suitcase, and gave a defiant toss of her head. Jocelyn and Heidi at their finest. They were certainly going to hear about her wardrobe. And pay, if she had her way. Then she quickly opened the door before she could change her mind. It was time. Sticking her head out, she peered around the corner and looked to the right, towards the bedroom, and cocked an ear. No Jim. She glanced to the left and in the direction of the living room. Again, no Jim. No sounds either to help alert her to his presence. Tentatively, she stepped out into the hallway and made her way to the kitchen, moving on trendy sneakered feet so as not to alert him to her presence. She was in desperate need of water after her long and strenuous run.

All for naught. Her footsteps came to a sudden halt. Of course, he sat at the gleaming kitchen counter, perched on the top of a stool and calmly reading through an impressive stack of papers with a mug of coffee steaming at his side. She blew out a small breath and mustered up a small smile before walking past him, giving him a wide berth. A quick jerk had the refrigerator's door open. She reached in and grabbed a bottle of water, all the while trying not to stare at him. The first sip cooled her parched throat. The second was even better. And she did it all without saying a word.

"Feel better?" Jim murmured without lifting his head. He hadn't made eye contact with her yet, had only seen a whole lot of bright yellow out of the corner of his eyes. He tried to read the writing in front of him but the words weren't making any sense. They had stopped making sense the second she'd entered the room. He was only interested in her.

Trixie snapped to immediate attention. A smart-ass response hovered on the edge of her tongue, ready for her to give life to, and one that would set him on edge. However, now that she had the chance to work off her extreme frustrations in a purely physical and acceptable kind of a way, the childish need to pick a battle with him wasn't there anymore. It was time to get down to business and move forward. She would deal with the change, exactly as Max ordered her to do. "Much better," she remarked easily, the acerbic tone from earlier completely gone. Her smile actually touched her blue eyes, making them glow with an inner light.

Jim glanced up in time to witness it and felt blessed to have her smiling at him. It was much better than having her poke a hole straight through his chest or look past him as if he wasn't even there. "Glad to hear it," he replied before the bright yellow of her outfit claimed his attention again and his mind registered what she was wearing. He couldn't help it. His tongue actually stuck to the roof of his mouth. His eyes roamed downward, devouring every single thing about her. He started at her bare shoulders, moved down to the enticing inch of skin revealed between the edge of her shirt and the start of her skirt, past her slim, inviting hips and finally ended on her lean, golden legs. And when she bent to reach back in the refrigerator, giving him an up close and personal look at a gorgeously shaped posterior…His grip tightened reflexively on the coffee mug. He had to hold onto something tight. At the moment, it would be horribly wrong to hold onto her like that.

"Me, too." Feeling the rumblings of hunger in her stomach, reminding her that it'd been an awfully long time since her last meal, Trixie searched back through the refrigerator and came out with a bag of baby carrots, unaware that Jim watched her the entire time or that his eyes were practically bulging out of his face. She closed the door with a hip, stood on tiptoes, and looked through the cabinets until she found a brand new container of ranch dressing. Staying in a luxury suite definitely had its perks, she thought as she started to rinse the carrots in a plastic colander. The water felt cool and refreshing under her fingers. "I'm sorry I wasn't all that enthusiastic earlier. I don't like losing control, especially when it involves my job," she admitted while she studied the neutral backsplash and popped a freshly washed carrot into her mouth.

He could understand that. Control was something he worked extremely hard to keep, at all times. Right now was a prime example. It was taking every ounce not to do or say something she may regret later. At the moment, he didn't think he would regret it. He gulped down the remaining coffee in his mug, ignored the scalding heat as it poured down his throat, and started rattling the papers spread out on the counter, not wanting her to know that she'd managed to mesmerize him. He needed some form of defense against her. "Don't worry about it. I didn't take it personally," he said, his voice sounding garbled to his own ears. He gave a little cough and searched for something to say. Luckily, the new papers served as the perfect neutral topic of conversation "Your friend Max stopped by about half an hour ago and dropped a few things off for us. He's been very busy. One thing he gave me was the information on one James W. Hart. We're supposed to become familiar with it and then return it to him when we're finished. He made it clear that it can't stay in the room. He's going to shred it afterwards."

"Good idea. It would be too dangerous to leave it lying around." Curious as always, Trixie left the carrots to drip dry in the deep sink, trotted her way over to him, peered over his shoulder and started reading the black and white print. The first thing she zeroed in on was his new name. She jabbed a long fingernail at it. "Nice name. James Walter Hart, huh?"

Jim threw her his famous lopsided grin and had no clue that her heart actually stopped beating for the precious seconds it stayed on his face. He wasn't the only one who needed a defense. "I'm not complaining. I find it intriguing that Max decided to keep my normal middle initial."

Whoa, Trixie told her wayward heart. Skilled at using work as a place to hide out from her other thoughts, she gave it her full attention. It was what she did best. "It's always best to stay as close to normal as possible when pretending to be someone you're not. It gives you more of an edge and hopefully helps prevent you from making an irreversible mistake. I still have my middle initial, too," Trixie murmured, busy eyes skimming over the available material. So far what she read met her approval. "It's also the reason why I'm using Trixie and my mother's maiden name for this job."

"You can thank my mother for the Hart. She usually uses it when making travel arrangements for her and my father. She did it automatically when she made mine. It turns out it was a very good thing for her to do. That's why I gave it as my last name downstairs in the bar." Because she hadn't moved and was still standing behind him, he started shuffling the papers together, a way to keep him from reaching out for her.

"Smart," she said approvingly and smiled again. "It's a practice that certainly helped out us today."

If she continued smiling at him like that, he wasn't going to be held accountable for his actions. It was very nice, something he could easily get used to and rather wished it would start happening again on a regular basis. He much preferred it to the polite half-smiles, stilted conversations and flat-out avoidances that used to mark their time together. Reluctantly getting back to the matter at hand, he pulled out the employment history of one James W. Hart and shook it. "Here, look at this, Trix. It turns out that I'm a stockbroker." A look of sham sympathy fell across his face and he lifted his eyebrows. "And I'm not very good at it."

"Oh?" Intrigued, Trixie accepted the employment record from him and read it over swiftly. Excited, she laid an absent hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Look, Jim! Look at that! You lost your job two months ago."

Jim ordered himself to breathe. She was touching him. Touching him! She was also close, so close that only the smallest bit of space existed between them. So tiny all he'd have to do was to inch toward her the slightest little bit until he could start touching her. His touch wouldn't be quite as innocent as hers, of that he had no doubt. When his hand flexed to do just that, he made a fist. He cleared his throat again and concentrated on the matter at hand. "Yeah, I lost my job. Poor performance, poor attitude, and a rather ugly confrontation with my supervisor. I was fired without the possibility of a reference. But you've got to look closer. It gets worse, Trixie." He rifled through a set of papers for his credit rating. It was exactly one half of what his real credit rating was. "See? I'm in big financial trouble here. If I don't get a job or some ready cash soon, Jim Hart is going to lose everything."

"This is perfect!" Trixie moved her hand from his shoulder to his forearm and jumped up and down with excitement. Her ponytail bounced with the quick and active movement. "Don't you see, Jim! We're practically broke."

Jim stared up at the ceiling, an amused grin traipsing across his lips. "Only you would get excited about bankruptcy."

"No, no, not that. I'm not excited about bankruptcy. That's not ever funny," Trixie hastened to explain quickly and pulled the matching yellow ponytail holder out of her hair. She absently slipped it onto her wrist. "I'm excited about Max. He's come up with the perfect reason why we want to sell what we're selling. You see, we're two very desperate people, extremely close to losing it all. This is so obviously our last chance before we hit rock bottom and have to give up our current lifestyle that we've become accustomed to. It's absolutely perfect and absolutely believable. We're living on the edge here, Hart." She brought her face back up to his, giggling, and dropped her hand from him. She snatched a stool and sat down, right next to him, and started thumbing through the rest of the papers.

"We could always sell that ugly ring of yours. Johnson," he added, getting into the spirit of the charade. He playfully pointed to the huge, glaring object resting on her finger. It was so large it was blinding and even uglier than he'd originally thought. It didn't fit her finger well at all, not like…His eyes flared wide and he cleared his throat, again. "It's quite an eyesore."

"We think it's the most gorgeous ring ever," she defended with a little smirk and a larger wink. "Now, a normal couple with our financial difficulties would immediately start to downsize to pay back their overwhelming debt. We wouldn't. You see, we're greedy and grasping and completely, totally selfish. James Hart and Beatrix Johnson want it all without putting too much time or energy into it. We wouldn't sell the ring, no matter how ugly it is. We also wouldn't sell…" She picked up his paperwork and snickered. "Our four bedroom, three bathroom house in Los Angeles, my cute little BMW convertible or your gas-guzzling Hummer. It couldn't get any better. We're truly reckless, exactly the type that Mr. Young wants to deal with."

"Mr. Young?" Intrigued, Jim turned to stare at her. It was the first time he'd heard the name.

"Eric Young," she explained absently. The papers fluttered back to the counter while she continued to ramble on, "After reading up on your information, he's got to be doing cartwheels right now. In his mind, we're the surest of things. As long as he trusts us, he's going to buy our little object. In fact, he'll probably try and lower the price now since he knows we're the teeniest bit in the red right now." She held her thumb and forefinger together to emphasize her point, chuckling again.

"That's good, then." He thought about the information he'd learned so far and remembered another time when they'd pretended to be someone they were not. "It looks like all that training on Cobbett's Island is finally going to pay off," he murmured dryly.

His response startled a low gasp of delight out of her. "I think it's going to be a little more complicated than that outing," she answered with a brilliant sparkle in her eyes, remembering that time fondly. A perfect example of how she and Jim could work together, successfully and happily, to achieve the same end. Yeah, it could work, she realized with a sharp blast of insight, astonishing her. It truly could.

He adored the way she looked when her entire guard was down. Happy, carefree, bubbling with buoyantly contagious energy. It drew him to her, exactly as it had done since the very moment he'd met her, but he stayed firm on his stool. Acting on how he was feeling wasn't in the cards; at least, not right now. Now, he needed to know more. "How complicated is it going to be?"

"I'll let you decide. Did Max tell you that this was his last assignment?" After he nodded, she continued to explain, "As you are already aware, our job is to pose as a happily engaged couple and gain Mr. Young's trust. When compared to a few other assignments I've been on for my agency, it should be relatively easy. That's why our Chief gave it to Max. He wanted him to have a simple mission to end on." She bit the inside of her cheek. A slight rosy hue that had nothing to do as a result of her recent exercise tinted her cheeks. The _simple mission_ had turned into something altogether different.

Jim shifted his body on the stool until he could look directly at her. "I figured out when we were downstairs that you…er, I guess we, are selling something. Why do we need to gain this Mr. Young's trust to do that?"

Having the clearance to share as much as possible with Jim made her answer easy. She swiveled around until they were practically knee to knee. An elbow rested on the counter, she leaned forward and pitched her voice low, as if sharing a secret of great importance, "Ah, Jim. What we're selling isn't exactly something you could find anywhere else on the market."

"Is it illegal?" Her answering nod piqued his curiosity. Following her lead, he whispered lowly, "What is it?"

Trixie hopped down from her stool. "Stay right here. I'll show you." With the limitless energy she was known for, she sprinted out of the room and was back in the room in the span of a heartbeat. Her purse landed with a loud clutter on the counter. She emptied out its contents, wisely left the gun inside the lining, and took out the cosmetics case. "This is what we're selling him," she explained and held it aloft.

"Make-up?" Incredulous, Jim frowned and edged in for a closer look. What the hell could be illegal about cosmetics? "We're selling him make-up?"

Turning her head around quickly, Trixie was shocked to find him right next to her. If she moved the tiniest bit forward, she could…she shook her head, derailing that train of thought as quickly as she could. Not possible, she told her herself firmly. "No," she answered, a trifle breathlessly, and ignored the almost overwhelming reaction his nearness caused. She willed her blood to stop roaring and to go back to its normal flow. Carefully, she pried apart the case and showed him the small disc hidden inside. "This is what we're selling."

"At least it's not drugs," Jim mumbled, more to himself than to her. For some reason, drugs were exactly where his thoughts had gone when he thought of them selling something illegal.

"No. Not this time. Although we do have information that Mr. Young has dealt in that realm before but that's not what he's interested in right now," she replied seriously and gingerly put the disc back into its hideaway. "I came across the information contained on this little disc a few months ago. I don't know if you remember but I told you, Honey and Dan a little about an assignment I was on right before I came home for the wedding. We were eating lunch at your house, right after the final fittings for our dresses."

"Right. I remember." Jim nodded his head. How could he forget? The first full day of their truce, which was probably the best idea his sister Honey had ever offered to him. He seriously doubted if he would have had the instincts to offer up such a suggestion without her not-so-gentle prod. It was also the first time he'd seen her in that glamorous, gorgeous golden dream of a gown. And the first time in years that the two of them were comfortable enough with each other to share a meal together. "Yeah. Dan asked if you were tired and you said…"

"That one of my friends had met with an accident," Trixie answered, choosing to ignore the fact that her 'friend' in question wasn't actually a friend but a fellow agent who'd gone bad and tried to kill her. The way she figured it, he didn't need to know all the particulars. She mentally pushed away the memories and focused on the imperative information she'd retrieved that day. "Anyway, I came across something interesting on that job, copied it to a disc, and brought it back to my agency. It took a while for it to be decoded. They worked on it day and night for a few weeks. When it finally was decoded, we discovered something extremely interesting."

"What did you find out?" Jim stared as if mesmerized at the little silver circular object. His imagination wasn't good enough to come up with anything suitable.

"This little disc contains a rather interesting prototype." She closed the case with a decided snap. "It's basically a hacker's delight, an absolutely amazing decryption program that is beyond anything that's ever been created before. If I were to pop it into a computer, I'd be able to break into any site in cyber world, all without detection and all without breaking a sweat. It wouldn't matter what kind of protection you had. This thing can cut through them all and then some. It is absolutely unstoppable, untraceable and undetectable."

"That's a lot of uns," he murmured, eyeing the small case with more interest than he had before.

"Tell me about it." Her lips tilted up at the corners. "The possibilities this little disc contains, as you can imagine, are endless. If I wanted to deal in stolen identities, I could steal all kinds of personal information, sell it on the black market and make one hell of a killing or…"

"Or you could break into bank accounts and transfer money from one account to another, without detection," Jim broke in. The havoc the little thing could wreck was seriously impressive.

"Exactly. There is nothing this disc couldn't do," Trixie insisted, amazed that she could sound so jovial about such a dangerous invention. "This little baby has some serious untapped potential. It could be used to break into anything, no matter how good or how strong the security system."

Jim let out a small breath, unsure if he felt relieved or scared. A little knowledge truly could go a long way. "Well, now I know the answer to another of my questions."

"You've got more, I'm sure," Trixie broke in with a grin that could only be termed impish.

"Just a few," he shot back with a swiftness that made her chuckle and, surprising himself, winked at her.

"Hit me with them." Leaning back, she held her arms out. "I'll tell you what I can." Not exactly a full-blown lie but she hoped Jim never found out the complete truth. With his infamous temper and his high sense of honor, she highly doubted if he would be able to understand why she held certain relevant information back from him, such as the fact that she wasn't anywhere close to being a private investigator and that he was willingly helping out one of the most secretive and clandestine institutions in the entire world. Should he ever find out the entire truth, his reaction wouldn't be a pretty thing to behold. The knowledge dimmed the excited light in her eyes while she prayed he never found out everything.

"You've mentioned that we're here to sell your little invention to Mr. Young…Eric Young?" he repeated questioningly, making sure he had the name correct.

"Yup." Trixie slipped back onto her stool and prepared to explain as much of the mission as she could. "He and his wife…her name is Virginia, nicknamed Ginny…have actually made _The Victoria_ their home. They have a penthouse suite here. That's why my agency chose this hotel for us to stay in. We're in the same neighborhood. It makes it a heck of a lot easier to get in contact with each other."

"So he's living above us." Jim stared up at the ceiling.

"Not right above us but close enough." Trixie chuckled a little and continued, "I'll give you a little background on Mr. Young. He's very close with his wife. They've been together for over two decades. She's a great help to him and assists him with his different business ventures. They don't have any children and they're quite wealthy. Legally, he made a lot of money in the house-flipping business. Illegally, well, he's more of a middle man. He takes certain items and then sells them to the highest bidder. He won't want to keep this little disc for himself but he has the contacts to further it along to someone else who would love to obtain it. We simply need to mingle with him, present a united front, and sell our merchandise. We don't have to do anything too exciting or demanding this time around. We hang out with Mr. Young, we talk to him, convince him we're trustworthy, and then we complete the deal."

"All right." Jim let the information sink in. So far, it didn't sound too hard. "What happens after you make the deal?"

"After _we_ make the deal," Trixie said, with an emphasis on the we, "we leave. As Steve Miller says, we take the money and run, which is exactly what Mr. Young will expect us to do. Then our back-up team, and there are quite a few members of it, will track Mr. Young's movements after he takes ownership of the disc and find out who he attempts to sell it to. We have a few good guesses on who it will be. He's dealt with all of them in the past and they're all on the rather unsavory side."

"Should I start updating my anti-virus?" Jim wondered aloud, only half-joking.

"No. Nothing to worry about there," Trixie replied and internally apologized for the first of many full-out lies tripping off her tongue. Her eyes slid away from his and she fingered a paper, nervously curling and uncurling the ends of it. Her run had helped her prepare for the need to lie. "My agency immediately got into contact with the proper authorities after they realized what the disc contained. It took countless hours but they've created a solution to it. As soon as the new owner of the disc tries to use it to break into a site, they will be tracked and it will immediately be shut down. It won't work and the proper authorities will be alerted." In other words, a team of highly trained CDA agents would descend upon the individual and take him (or her) into their custody. Immediately.

"That makes me feel better," he said, straight-faced. Then his lips pulled back into a slight frown. "If you don't mind me asking, and I don't mean any insult here, but how did your little P.I. agency get involved in something huge like this?"

Little P.I. agency. If only he knew. She took a long swallow, internally damning herself for not preparing for this particular question. "I can't go into too much detail," she murmured, again avoiding his eyes and hoping he wouldn't be able to tell that she was full-out lying. "We have a client who hired us for this job. He's very interested in seeing who the disc goes to and what the new owner attempts to do with it. I'm sorry. That's really all I can tell you about it."

He accepted it at face value, didn't look into the nervous play of her fingers or the tell-tale darting of her eyes. "I understand. Confidentiality. How much are you…I mean, we, asking for this little item?"

Trixie named a figure that had Jim's eyebrows shooting up again. "We're supposed to be exceptionally greedy, too."

She made him laugh. Jim shook his head and shared after a minute of companionable silence, "I hope you don't mind but I ordered room service when you were running. I wasn't sure how long you were going to need so I asked them to bring it up at eight-thirty." A quick look at his watch showed him that they had about forty-five minutes before dinner should arrive.

She smiled her thanks up at him. "Thanks, Jim. I just realized how starved I am. I haven't eating a thing since the flight. What are we having?"

"I kept it simple. Pasta, meat sauce, bread and salad. It's from this one restaurant I'm supposed to be visiting," he said, amazed that he could remember the entire reason behind his trip to begin with. "My mother wanted me to scout it out for one of her friends who's thinking about investing in it."

"So that's why you're here." Trixie nodded, pleased that she finally knew the reason behind his vacation. "I talked with Dan earlier, before I went down to the bar. He told me that you were on an enforced vacation but we were interrupted before I found out exactly where you were."

"He called me during my flight. I haven't had a chance to call him back yet." Jim relaxed against the counter. It felt astonishingly good to carry on a normal conversation with Trixie. Even as good as their time together during Honey's wedding week, nothing they experienced then came close to now. Well, he thought with a slight smirk, maybe their shared experience in Honey's room right after the reception. His eyes suddenly grew big when it finally hit him. They were going to be spending the rest of the day and the entire night together, in this very suite, with no one else around, to bother, hinder or interrupt. The thought both thrilled and scared him.

Completely oblivious to Jim's sudden realization, Trixie tapped a finger on the countertop. It hadn't fully registered on her. Yet. "I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone else recently but Dan. You?"

It took a long second for the question to sink in past the haze clouding his brain and a longer one for him to remember the need to answer. "Brian." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I called Honey to let her know I got in safe and sound. Brian ended up being home instead of her. He probably gave her the message."

"It's always nice to hear from home." She craned her neck and stared towards the open doorway. "Now that we are working together, I'm almost expecting a flock of Bob-Whites to start pounding their way down the hall demanding to know what's going on, just like they did in the good ol' days."

"I know what you mean." The same feeling assaulted Jim, too. It amazed him to know that she felt the same way. More common ground existed between them. How startling.

"Well, if the food's going to get here soon, I'd better get ready." She glanced wryly down at her exercise clothes. "I think I should go get a shower."

"Right." Jim watched her saunter her way towards the door. His emerald gaze didn't rise from the sway of her hips. For the first time it occurred to him how hard his part in this mission was going to be. And, perversely, it didn't worry him. Not this time. "Trixie," he called out, halting her progress. He pointed to the small black bag lying on the floor. "Max also left something for you when he stopped by earlier with my new and not-so-improved paperwork. It's right over there. He told me to tell you that it's a surprise from someone named Heidi."

A bag. Dear God, another bag. She stared down at it, almost as if it was getting ready to strike out at her. Please, let it hold some clothes her body wouldn't rebel against wearing, she prayed inwardly. She didn't know how she was going to go through the next few days in the colorful rejects she had from Fran Fine's closet. "Oh, my," she murmured and approached it carefully, unsure of what it contained.

Her wary approach made his lips tilt. "It's not going to bite," he hastened to assure her.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. "It might," she answered and dropped the bag on the table. Hastily, she threw back the zipper. Her small gasp was made up of pure pleasure. Her clothes, her T-shirts and shorts from her house, were packed inside, much to her relief and inner joy. "Oh, yes," she breathed out and pulled out a plain white shirt. She pressed it against her cheek as if it was made of the finest of silk instead of normal, everyday cotton.

Jim couldn't mistake the thrilled delight on her face. "See? I told you it wouldn't bite," he said, earning a small smile from her.

"This is so much better than the other clothes they foisted off on me, Jim. It's not my normal style, as you already know. And I was really worried about what I was supposed to exercise in," she said after a rueful look at her cheerful yellow ensemble. "Or sleep in," she added conversationally and without thinking it through.

Sleep. The word brought a brutal end to the relaxed atmosphere in the room. It affected both of them, equally and tremendously. Jim flushed red; Trixie turned a becoming pink. They tried hard to look everywhere but at each other. She studied the ceiling; he memorized the multi-colored tiled pattern on the floor while they thought it through. Sleep. Sleeping arrangements hadn't been considered when he agreed to help Trixie out with her assignment. Now…oh, damn. The blood began pumping vigorously throughout him. And it's destination was somewhere well south of the border. "Ah…well, you can have the bed," he gallantly offered, doing his best not to imagine what could happen there or see if she was willing to pick up where they left off a few months ago. "I can take the sofa. It looks pretty comfortable."

Her face was flaming hot, the brightest red it had ever been. Considering her history with blushing, that was saying quite a lot. She ducked her head to hide from his view, suddenly becoming very interested in searching out the rest of her clothes for the night. "All right," she agreed without arguing, having no desire to get into a long-winded discussion about sleeping arrangements with him. She gripped a pair of green cotton shorts in one hand and the white shirt in her hand as if they were her lifeline. "I'll, umm…I guess I'll go get that shower and get ready for the night. I should be done before dinner." After hastily shouldering the bag, she got out of the room as quickly as she could and hurried back to the bedroom.

As expected, the room wasn't in the best of shapes. Clothes were strewn across the bed and on the floor, in a jumbled and messy pile, from her hasty search for exercise clothes earlier in the evening. Unrepentantly, she stepped over a slim silvery dress splayed out on the floor and dropped her new bag on the bed with a grateful thump. It wouldn't be too hard to put the unpacking off until after her shower, she decided with a cheerful chuckle and, armed with her preferred clothes, strolled over to the bathroom.

After she left the kitchen, Jim squeezed his eyes shut, tightly, and tried hard not to think about what could happen on the bed he just willingly, and stupidly, in his mind, gave up for the duration of their adventure. Because his thoughts were clearly less than chivalrous, he searched for something to do, something that could keep his mind blissfully occupied with anything else but the beautiful blonde down the hall, and ended up out in the living room, on the sofa. When a quick surf through the channels didn't whet his interest in the least, he gave up the notion that television could help and meandered his way down the hall, towards the bedroom, wheeling her other suitcase with him. Cautiously, he looked into the room and breathed a sigh of relief. She was in the shower, as the sound of the spraying water gave credence to. Then he looked closer at the room. Colorful clothes spilled out from one of her suitcases, drew his immediate attention. Intrigued, he entered the room and fingered a silky top in varying shades of pink and stared at it. It certainly wasn't anywhere close to Trixie's usual style, exactly as she had stated earlier in the kitchen.

Since the shower was still running on full force, evidence that Trixie was completely occupied and wouldn't be walking in on him any time soon, he picked up another article of clothing. This time a small jacket that was lined with…sparkly purple fluff. His laugh was low and completely masculine. Seeing Trixie wearing the clothes was going to be priceless. He automatically folded the jacket, laid it carefully on the bed, and accidentally knocked off her surprise bag, the one that made her squeal with happiness. A few T-shirts and shorts, more in favor of the Trixie he knew, fell out and landed on the floor with a plop, as well as the old and battered New York Yankees cap that he knew belonged to Mart. He picked it up first, tapped the brim and let out a sigh. She wore it every time she came home. He had to wonder if she brought it on all her assignments, too. Reverently, he placed it off to the side.

He grabbed the bag next and righted it. The shirts were next. He picked up one, automatically folded it, put it away, and did the same thing with the next shirt. The last shirt caught him by surprise. Surprised by the silky, almost threadbare feel to it, he held it out and inspected it. It was large and would certainly swallow up Trixie's much-smaller, petite body. It also had to be old. Tiny holes were in places where the thread had given way, proving that it was a shirt that saw a lot of wear. Since he was looking at the back of it, he turned the shirt around for a good, long look at the front. Everything inside him went all funny and twisted. The words NYU were still there but were barely visible. It was his shirt, _his shirt_, the one she'd taken to wearing soon after they'd started dating. She still had it? She still wore it? His shirt? He didn't know how long he stared down at it, fascinated, but, when the sound of the water ended, he hurriedly crammed it back into her bag and strode swiftly towards the doorway so Trixie wouldn't think he was rooting through her stuff, which was, ironically enough, exactly what he'd been doing. But what the hell was she still doing with his shirt? Jim faded into the hallway and kept his eyes trained on the bathroom door.

Freshly scrubbed, with her wet curls tangling around and below her shoulders and all trace of make-up removed from her face, Trixie walked back into the room, unaware of her interested audience a few feet away. She padded over to the large bed on bare feet and sat down, making her realize how tired she really was, either from the traveling or the extremely bizarre start to her mission. "What a day," she mumbled softly and grimaced at a dress. The look she gave it should have made the innocent article of clothing fall apart at the seams.

From his position in the doorway Jim watched Trixie pick up one of the shortest dresses he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. It looked like it would fit her tighter than the proverbial glove. Countless polka dots were splashed across it. If he didn't miss his guess, there was also a matching bow on the back of it. "Ah, Trix?" he questioned as she pushed herself off the bed with a weary groan and crossed the room, on her way to the closet.

She jolted, surprised that he was there, and tossed a look over her shoulder at him. She shouldn't be surprised by his presence, not any longer. After all, she reasoned, they were essentially living together for the next little while. It wouldn't do to have her heart start pounding every single time they came into contact together. "What's that, Jim?"

"Your wardrobe." He hunkered down by the bed and helpfully picked up a top striped in various blues and greens. Brown feathers dangled from beads attached at the bottom of it. "I can't help but notice it's a little…" He stopped and valiantly searched for the right word, one that he hoped wouldn't insult her too much. "Abnormal for you," he finally settled on.

"It's not abnormal." Trixie smirked and playfully grabbed the top from him. "It's awful. No, Jim. You didn't offend me. You're not thinking anything I haven't already thought and then some. My clothes are just plain hideous."

"If you don't mind my asking, where did you get it?" He offered up a matching pair of skin-tight bright blue leggings.

"You can't blame me. I didn't have anything to do with it." She carelessly attached the shirt to the hanger and snapped it on the bar. The sight of Jim's clothes staring back made her momentarily stop. All were hung in neat, proper lines and, she noted wryly, were color-coded. He probably did it by rote, she thought wryly and rolled her eyes. Her clothes were the exact opposite. Right now half of her wardrobe dangled from the large bed to the carpeted floor in a splashy mass of color. They were probably being wrinkled beyond repair. She could only hope.

"If you didn't…"Jim didn't finish his leading statement. Instead, he picked up a pair of black fishnet stockings and stared at them in awe.

A noise somewhere between a giggle and a gasp tripped past her lips. She ripped them out of his hands, balled them up and hid them behind her back before throwing them onto the floor of the closet. "A few people at work put it together for me," she explained, her face heating up.

He waited a beat. "Do they know you?"

She paused in the act of pulling out a see-through mesh shirt in the charming color of day-glo orange. She guessed correctly that there was a pair of tight black leggings somewhere to go with it. "Yes, they know me," she replied, swallowing back a helpless sort of a giggle.

"Okay. I'll go with my next question." When he offered her a short pink and black dress with thin spaghetti straps, he inquired, straight-faced, "Do they like you?"

This time she did laugh. "Yeah. They like me. A lot. And I like them. We've been friends for a very long time." Merry blue eyes danced as she explained, "You see, they wanted to plan out a wardrobe that would catch our mark's interest."

They definitely succeeded. He wasn't the mark and he was already interested in seeing her in more than a few of the outfits. There was something about a dressed-up Trixie that always affected him, even in more colorful and revealing clothes than he was accustomed to viewing. The sight promised to challenge his control. However, they wanted Trixie to wear clothes that would catch their mark's interest? He ran through the information he already knew. Something didn't add up. "Didn't you say that he was very close to his wife? Ginny, right?"

She nodded. "He loves her very much and they're both faithful to each other. But…" She picked up a leopard print halter top by the tips of her fingers and gave a comical grimace. "Mr. Young loves to look. According to our extensive background information on him, he has a strong penchant for looking at blue-eyed blondes."

"Which is how you got the job," Jim surmised correctly. Not that he could blame Mr. Young. He rather liked looking at a particular blue-eyed blonde himself. He gestured to the rest of the clothes. "I brought in your other suitcase. Can I help you get everything unpacked?"

"No, thanks. I'll take care of it, Jim. There's no telling what else is hidden in my luggage. I don't want to scare you." She offered one last scowl of disgust at her clothes and headed to the closet. As much as she disliked unpacking, the last thing she wanted was Jim helping her with her rather revealing wardrobe. The more private, intimate wear hadn't been unpacked yet. She thought she may actually and finally die if Jim caught sight of them.

The ding of the doorbell rang sharply through the air, cutting off his intentions of insisting on assisting. "That should probably be our dinner. It's about the right time." He started meandering his way towards the door. "I'll get it and get everything set up. Why don't you meet me in the dining room when you're ready? We can eat there."

"Sure. No problem." Trixie gave a thin sandal with a gigantic fabric flower in the most interesting shade of orange placed dead center on it a swift and satisfying kick and finished hanging up her clothes. If the clothes weren't hanging as neatly or precisely as Jim's, she didn't particularly care or take the time to fix. In her mind, the job was done, even if in a rather careless manner, and she had no intentions of taking the time to do it properly.

As she left the large bedroom, she paused, one hand on the polished frame of the door. The king-size bed dominated the room. It called out to her, made her blush even more furiously than she had a few moments earlier before she swiftly looked away. No matter how long they were in Vegas, for twenty-four hours or seven times that, she suddenly found herself appreciative of the time, if not the reasoning. Time with Jim. Alone. With none of their family or friends around them. Who would have thought it? Amazing. A finger trailed along the edge of the door before she followed the smell of the delicious food.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Eight

Long fingers of sunlight stretched across the room, bright, bold and unforgiving. He turned away from it, into the back cushions of the sofa, and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. A useless endeavor. Once Jim Frayne awoke, there wasn't any hope of falling back to sleep or staying in bed. Whether he wanted to be or not, he was up. Giving in to the inevitable with a frustrated mumble of a groan, he flopped over onto his back, draped a bare arm over his eyes to shade out the aggravating glare streaking through the curtains, and cracked a blurry glance at the ultra blue numbers on the Blu-Ray player. The numbers proclaiming the time back at him made his mouth fall open with shock.

Normally, sleeping in until after nine o'clock on any given morning was a luxury he didn't allow himself to enjoy. He generally raced the sun to see who would be up and about first. Most of the time he won. Today, he definitely came in a poor and late second. It should have provided him with more than enough rest but it didn't. His sleep of the night before could best be described as sporadic. Knowing Trixie was just down the hall, only a short distance away, hadn't been the most relaxing for his sense of well-being. More than once through the long hours of the sleepless night he'd cursed his chivalrous streak. If he hadn't made the offer to let her have the bed, maybe…The maybe was what prevented him from successfully finding more sleep and spurred on dreams he wasn't sure she'd be happy to know that she starred in.

Was she awake yet? Like a lost puppy looking for its owner, he cocked an ear to the side and listened intently but couldn't hear anything other than his own breathing. Tossing back his covers, he moved to a sitting position and dropped his weary head into his hands. A few strong swears rang through his mind, ones that he didn't give life to. No question about it, he wouldn't be able to survive many days on the pitiful amount of sleep he managed to get. Already feeling like he was running on empty wasn't the best way to start the day, especially when it was his first full day in Las Vegas. With Trixie. Acting as her pretend fiancé. All necessary mental facilities needed to be in full working order to pull off such a scam.

Coffee. Caffeine was definitely what he needed. Pleased with his decision, he shuffled towards the kitchen, enjoyed one long, lazy stretch to get out any remaining creaks and groans and started the automatic coffee maker. Just the smell of the freshly percolating liquid helped bring him fully awake. "Exactly what I needed," Jim murmured quietly and pulled down a plain white ceramic mug with the hotel's name neatly scripted across the front. Hands on hips, he stood and watched the smoothly dark liquid drip down and immediately poured himself a mug when it was finished. The first taste shook away the last dregs of sleep. The second gave him the spurt of energy he needed to face the day.

Whistling under his breath, he made his way back into the living room with just enough time to settle himself on the sofa and flip on the gorgeous marvel of technology that was the television set when his cell phone let out an insistent, and entirely too cheerful, chirp. Glaring at the small inanimate object, he forgot to check the caller id and barked out a gravelly, and not all that welcoming, "Hello?"

"Good morning, Hart!" a familiar voice responded with such extreme good cheer that it had to be feigned. On the other end of the line, Ritch swiveled around in his comfortable seat and picked up the information the internet offered up on one-half of their new prospects. Between what he'd been able to garner between Hart and Johnson, there wasn't any doubt in his mind or his boss's that the two prospects would make excellent sellers. Like most, he appreciated a sure thing over a questionable deal any day of the week. Since he didn't believe in wasting time, he got right down to business. "I see that you and your fiancée have decided to stay in Las Vegas. My employer wants to know if you are serious about completing the deal. What's your answer, Hart? Are you serious or not?"

His head snapped back so quickly he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Why the hell was this man calling him and not Trixie? What was he supposed to say? He glanced around, expecting her to come walking in the room at any possible minute and toss him a life preserver, but she didn't. Left with no other recourse, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out, slow and easy. It looked like he was on his own. Just don't blow it, he ordered himself harshly. She wouldn't be happy if he did. "We are serious," he answered, relying on the same tone he used when dealing with potentially difficult members of the business world.

It worked. Ritch heard the steel, the grit, the firmness in the answer and gained a little more respect for the man on the other end of the phone. It seemed they were going to be doing business together. At least, for the next few days. All good for him. He liked working with someone who didn't employ the run-around as a tactic or gave weak, wishy-washy answers. And, if he was being truthful, he also rather liked looking at the man's pretty fiancée. He had a strong suspicion his employer was going to like that little added bonus, too. Blondes got him every time, especially when they had big blue eyes. Steepling his fingers together, he replied jubilantly, "Excellent, Hart, excellent. Mr. Young was hoping you'd say that."

Jim stood up and walked over to the large window, purposefully allowing a few seconds of silence to transpire between them. Using the stringent allotment of time available, he attempted to think like Trixie, which, he admitted with a rueful grin, wasn't an easy thing to do. Her brain didn't function quite like his. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that she'd want to discover the necessary next step. He tossed out the bait; waited to see if Ritch would bite. "So, Mr. Young wants an affirmative answer from us?"

A low, pleased smile traipsed across his face. Choosing not to answer, to hold the cards closer to his chest and keep the redhead in the dark, Ritch inquired idly, "Where is that woman of yours this morning?"

Jim's slight grin slid off his face to land with an inaudible thud on the thick carpet below his feet. "Still sleeping," he retorted, beginning to bristle and not liking the man's inquiry into Trixie at all, exactly as Ritch had expected. The way the man stared at her, the things he said to her, the tone of voice…well, he wasn't endearing himself to Jim. Quite the opposite.

He made a mental note. Hart was clearly the jealous type. Ritch always enjoyed a good prod whenever the situation called for it. One of his favorite pastimes was stirring things up. "Ah. Long, hard night. For both of you, huh?" His deep, low chuckle offered more than any words could.

Jim saw red, a bright, brilliant shade. It didn't take a genius to comprehend what Ritch was insinuating. Because he didn't want to blow it before they'd even started, because he didn't want to let Trixie down, because she would be furious with him if he made a mistake, especially on the first morning of them officially working together, he followed her example of the afternoon before and took the high road, choosing to hide behind a non-commital grunt. That didn't stop him from watching the doorway with a quiet desperation, hoping she would suddenly materialize and take over. She didn't. Much to his chagrin, it was still very much empty.

The long silence was telling. Wanting to test the waters further, Ritch inquired, "Sleeping, huh? You must have really tired her out." Chuckling, he picked up a pen and started clicking it, over and over again, and wondered if he finally broke through the iron control the other man had to be exuding.

The urge to shoot back a heated retort quivered through him like an arrow from a bow. He quelled it with a superhuman effort and ignored the second insinuation. Instead, he focused on the previous night. Nothing even close to what Ritch imagined had happened. Maybe in his dreams but he wasn't admitting that aloud, not by a long shot, and not to anyone under the blazing sun. No, they ate their delicious dinner courtesy of room service, had another short meeting with Max and some guy named Shane where he was given back his cell phone, laptop, and official new personal information that identified him as James W. Hart, and then they attempted to watch some kind of an action movie on the big screen television. Attempted was the word of the evening since the awkward moment of retreating to bed kept creeping up on them. After the movie ended and she'd finally gone back to the bedroom, he'd spent the entire night tossing and turning on the comfortable sofa, the victim of dreams that were extremely vivid. Trixie, on the other hand, must not have had as much trouble falling asleep as he had. After all, she wasn't awake yet. "It was a long day," he gritted out after an almost infuriated pause.

"Today will be different. You have the entire day to enjoy Vegas and all the wonders it contains. It's your first time here, right?" Ritch rubbed his fingernails across his shirt, feigning interest.

"Right." Although he hated having any kind of contact with the man on the other end of the line, he managed to get the next part out without too much trouble, "We're looking forward to exploring Las Vegas."

"Excellent! That's exactly what my employer wants you two to do today. Enjoy Vegas, explore it, as you said, to your little heart's content, Hart. He wants you to have a memorable time." Ritch glanced down at the itinerary he had carefully mapped out for the couple, as per his boss's orders. If they followed his itinerary, it would be simple to keep tabs on the couple, to allow a few of his associates to have a thorough search of their suite, and also let them observe the two together. Mr. Young wanted to know how they functioned as a couple, as well as if they seemed trustworthy enough to go ahead with the potential deal. Only then would he agree to work with them.

"I don't think I'll have any trouble convincing Trixie to find out what the city has to offer." Jim rolled his eyes, fed up with the charade already, and privately wondered how he was going to hold his end up once it truly started. Well out of his normal realm; he did not like being out of his comfort zone. At least Trixie would be there to help him out should he need it. That thought alone was enough to be his saving grace. Trixie. Dressed up in one of those vibrant, extremely sexy little numbers. He ran a hand over his unkempt hair. Maybe not his saving grace, he mused and closed his eyes.

"You'll discover when you go to the front desk that Mr. Young has left you complimentary vouchers, tickets, and some reservations for lunch and dinner." The plan wasn't to help the couple they knew to be financially struggling out. No, it was for Mr. Young's henchmen to watch the couple from a distance, to see if they were a solid unit and people that he wanted to work with. Planning their day in the guise of offering up generous tickets was a simple and ingenious way of following their every move. He considered it a sure bet. They wouldn't resist or refuse the generous offer.

A short pause. Deciding it would be in character not to thank the man, Jim nodded curtly. "We'll check them out after we get up and moving for the day."

Ritch rolled the pen between his fingers and chuckled again. He dropped another little bit of information with apparent nonchalance, to let him know their movements were being tracked. "Neither you nor your missus left the suite last night, other than when you retrieved her luggage from her room. You're quite the gentleman."

"She makes it worthwhile." Jim gritted his teeth.

"I'll bet she does." Ritch closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. Hart wasn't as fun to poke at as he'd predicted. It took away most of the enjoyment. Knowing he had to get his people lined up to observe the couple, he remarked briskly, ready to end the conversation and move on to the next step of the day, "If my boss likes what he sees, he'll be in contact with you again, most likely through me. My advice for you and your gal is to hang on and enjoy the ride. 'Later."

As abruptly as that, he was left staring at his cell. At least it was finally over, he thought with a philosophical shrug. His green gaze found its way to the doorway again. Trixie, he realized, would want to know about the contact as soon as possible. His role for the duration was meant to be supporting cast only. After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, he finally allowed himself to do what he'd imagined doing all night long. He walked to her room. Bare feet ate up the hall to the bedroom with an eagerness he didn't acknowledge.

When he reached the closed door, he straightened his shoulders, ran a hand over his hair, and gingerly knocked on it, twice. When there wasn't an answer either time, he knocked louder and pushed it open. "Trixie?" he called out. "Are you up?" The question felt idiotic the second it left his mouth. He mentally kicked himself and entered the bedroom, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Of course she wasn't up. She would have answered him if she was. No, she wasn't awake. She was…

Sprawled across the large king-size bed, fast asleep; a gorgeous, breathtaking vision of pure loveliness. Her blonde curls spread out and around her like a becoming halo on the mountain of beige colored pillows underneath. Her mouth was bowed open. Gentle, even breaths of air came out, almost in a perfect rhythm. Somehow in the middle of the night, she'd managed to kick off the covers. They pooled on the floor. Only her white shirt and green shorts kept her warm against the coolness of the central air. Her white shirt had ridden up so that a fair amount of her stomach was revealed. And the green shorts were bunched up, making her legs seem much longer than their normal length. The simple cotton ensemble was more alluring to him than the most expensive of silks would have been. He moved on to the tanned legs that ended in perfectly painted red toenails. If he thought he had trouble sleeping last night with only the thought of her in this very bed, he couldn't begin to fathom what this new picture was going to do to him tonight. It took all of his strength, all of his control, not to pounce.

Not wanting her to catch him in the middle of a deep and concentrated ogle, he willed his suddenly leaden feet to move. He came in closer and closer to the bed. Carefully, gently, he gave her bare arm a gentle shake. "Trixie," he managed to get out past the sudden surge of desire threatening to swallow him whole and repeated her name again. "Trixie."

The simple touch did it, brought her awake better than her name. Her eyes slitted open, met the green ones only a few measly feet from her. "Jim," she murmured, thickly, raspily and amazingly relaxed. Sleep still held her within its gentle captivity; hadn't let her go yet or allowed her to realize that waking up to Jim wasn't the most comfortable situation for her to be in. No history existed, painful or otherwise; nothing existed but the simple fact that he was here, with her. A hand reached out, covered his on the bed. "You're here," she mumbled, a small smile creeping its way across her face until it turned into a large yawn that she covered with her other hand.

It wasn't quite the greeting he'd been expecting from her. She looked so warm, welcoming, and downright approachable. "'Morning," he greeted, almost giving in to the impulse to tuck back the long curl that spiraled down in front of her face.

She took care of it herself, absently brushed it back, as reality slowly started its unwelcome descent. Jim in her bedroom. Jim was waking her up. Jim was here. There were in Las Vegas. She was lying in bed, her hand was on his, and she was hardly dressed. A loud gasp split the air as she stared down at her somewhat skimpy ensemble. Wide, embarrassed eyes snapped back to his face. Quickly, she moved into action and pulled her hand back. She needed both to fix her shirt. She pulled her legs underneath her and crossed her arms over her chest, a lovely shade of rose dotting her cheeks. Hoping to hide the sudden onslaught of nerves that came with reality, she stumbled through the first question to pop into her mind, "Umm… it's morning? What time is it?"

"It's about nine-thirty," Jim answered, drawing back to give both of them more room. Her reaction hadn't been lost on him. For some reason, it flattered him to know that he could fluster her that much.

"It is?" She swung her head around. Much to her amazement, the clock agreed with him. She lifted her eyebrows, shocked she'd been able to sleep so well and so soundly. Normally when she was on a mission, she rested only in fits and starts at best. Never was she able to get a full night of absolute sleep. It bothered her that she had until she looked back at Jim. _He _was the reason why she slept so well. The realization froze her brain, wouldn't let her formulate a thought, let alone participate in any type of a reasonable discussion.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you up," Jim apologized, blissfully ignorant of the fact that Trixie wasn't paying the least bit of attention to anything he was saying. "I thought you'd like to know that I got a phone call a few minutes ago."

It took a second for it to sink in and then for her to think of a response. "Wait. What?" Trixie shook away the wonder holding her spellbound and tried to comprehend what he was saying to her.

"I got a phone call," he repeated, gauging her reaction and hoping she would approve of the way he handled it.

Another quick shake of her head helped both her curls retain more of their normal bounce and helped her regain some much-needed balance. "Oh, I see. A phone call. Who's calling already?" Her mind immediately went to Sleepyside and their families, not to the reason why she, and now he, were in Las Vegas.

"Ritch," Jim answered, his lips twisting as he said the man's name. The employee of Mr. Young's wasn't winning him over in the least. If the man didn't stop leering at Trixie or making lewd comments about her or their supposed relationship, he wasn't going to be held accountable for his actions.

Trixie's eyes slowly grew in size. She rested against the thick pillows, letting the unexpected information sink in, and frowned in deep concentration. "Hmm," she murmured and started to pick at the corner of the sheet. Not only did she get the most rest ever on a mission, now she was forgetting the purpose behind her Vegas vacation to begin with. Not a good beginning. Even white teeth chewed restlessly on her bottom lip. Quietly she ordered herself to stop thinking like a sixteen-year old again and to start paying attention like the seasoned agent she was. It galled her to admit that she wasn't doing a very good job of it right now. "What did he want?"

Because the bed was so roomy and Trixie was safely ensconced near the headboard, Jim made himself comfortable on the edge. Enough space remained between them for his sanity. He put both hands on his knees; ignored the desire to touch the tantalizing amount of golden leg available to him, only an arm length and a half away. "He wanted to see if we were serious about continuing with the sale."

"That makes sense." An uncharacteristic red fingernail tapped soundlessly on the cover while she tried to suppress the need to question Jim endlessly about his phone call.

"He also said that he left some complimentary tickets and such for us at the front desk." He continued to watch her closely, to see how she would take the offer.

"I see." Unpainted lips curved upwards. Oh, did she ever see. Without a doubt, Ritch wanted them out of their new room. They wanted to search it, as soon as possible, to make up time from last night when they weren't able to.

Jim tried not to stare directly at Trixie, knowing it would be his downfall to look straight at her while she was in the bed. Instead, he concentrated on a spot directly to the right of her face. He fisted his hands, kept them tightly on his knees, and muttered, "There was also a mention of coupons and vouchers, too."

Unaware of Jim's inner struggle, a beautiful smile of true appreciation bloomed across her face. "You've got to hand it to Mr. Young. He's certainly rolling out the welcome mat for us." She picked up a pillow, cradled it to her chest and mulled the information over. If he was going to such lengths to keep them entertained and within his sights, he was more than serious about their merchandise. He wanted it. Her smile sharpened.

"Do you think that's what he's doing?" Jim wondered aloud.

"Nope," Trixie replied cheerfully. Wanting to prepare him, she explained, "He wants to observe us in action. Not only that but, if we're out of our room, he can have some of his cronies…"

"Search it while we're gone," Jim finished for her. For some reason he answered her crafty Cheshire sort of a grin with one of his own. Why someone searching through his personal belongings was amusing he couldn't tell but, with her smiling back at him, it was.

Letting out a quick giggle, she tossed back what little that was left of the covers and sprang out of bed, all traces of sleep gone and feeling strangely energized, more than prepared to face the day and whatever it may bring. "Well, it seems to me that our day has already been planned. I'm going to…" Here she eyed the closet with disgust and actually shuddered. "Forage for something suitable to wear."

Jim's face lit up with barely concealed humor. He turned a chuckle into a quick cough when she met him with an arched look of her own. "Good luck with that."

"Yeah, yeah," Trixie grumbled good-naturedly and decided to have a little fun at his expense. He deserved it for laughing at her. "Laugh now. Wait until Max drops off your wardrobe."

That took care of his amusement. "What?"

A peal of laughter poured out of her, as warm and welcoming as the rays of the sun. "Kidding. I'm kidding, Jim. We don't have any ulterior plans for your clothes. You're not being forced to wear anything else but what you'd like to. After all, Mrs. Young doesn't have a thing for redheads." She stepped into the closet and started sorting through potential outfits. "It may take me a while to decide on something," she called out over her shoulder.

"I have coffee ready when you're ready." Finding the whole experience unbelievably domestic, Jim reached in and grabbed a fresh set of clothes for himself. He threw one last look towards her and grinned when he heard a murmured string of rather unusual curses coming from her. She obviously adored her many and varied choices. Why he found that charming he couldn't say. "I'll meet you in the living room when you're ready."

Trixie tossed a careless wave his way and stopped her search when the bedroom door closed behind him. She laid her forehead against the cool wall and willed her pulse to return to normal. Jim hadn't so much as touched her and yet…the effect his mere presence had on her was exceedingly blinding. How was she going to deal with it? She was left without a single clue. "Don't think. Don't think. Do not think," she ordered herself. "Just get ready and do what you do best." Satisfied, she reached blindly for an outfit and hurried her way into the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she gave one last frown at the mirror, tugged down on the edge of her bright floral printed tank top that did not want to obey her and stared at the short flared black skirt. The fishnet stockings Jim helped unpack the day before decorated her legs and matching black heels completed the outfit. She jammed a headband on her head and, deciding it wasn't going to get any better, possibly only worse if she stayed staring at herself any longer, threw back the door. A look at Jim in a pair of khakis and a simple cotton shirt made her sigh. He looked comfortable, normal and, well, simply supple. Curling her lip at her own foolishness, she walked over to the sofa, perched on the arm, and asked conversationally, "Did the Yankees win last night?"

"In extra innings," he answered and glanced up at her. The remote slipped from his fingers once he got a good look. He figured he was going to have an ulcer as large as Nevada if his stomach kept clenching the way it did every time he saw her. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and took refuge behind the last sip of coffee in his mug. He held up a fresh one for her. "Are you ready?"

"Not quite yet." She gave a small shake of her head and accepted the mug. Somehow she didn't know how to bring up the next pressing issue. It would have been much easier to pretend with Max, to act it all out when it became necessary. After all, he didn't hold a special spot in her life, she didn't hold one in his, and they could have treated it like a huge joke and laughed it off afterwards. With Jim...a completely different story. She wouldn't be laughing any of it off. Cold showers, maybe. Lots of running to relieve tension, probably. Increased heart rate, for sure. She wasn't looking forward to it.

A quick flick of the wrist turned off the television. Puzzled, he stood up. "What's wrong, Trix?"

"Nothing's wrong. Exactly," she tacked on. "It's just, umm…" Words failed her, at one of the worst possible moments.

Fascinated, he watched the blush start to form, first in her cheeks and then spread all the way across her face, and even down her neck. He tamped down on the urge to embrace, to comfort, seriously doubting if she wanted that from him. "Something might not be wrong but something is definitely…not right," he substituted, hoping to get her to smile.

It nearly worked. "Not right isn't the exact phrase either," she said. A sound almost like a chuckle trickled out of her throat. Needing something to do, she walked over to the window, peeked out over the courtyard below, turned back around. The sun chose that moment to peak out from a set of clouds, to light her hair and turn it from simple blonde to a beautiful burnished gold. "I guess there's really no other way but to just come straight out and say it."

"I'm listening." Because he wanted to reach for her, and quite badly, he stuck his hands into his pockets and waited for her to approach again. She did so on slightly shaky heels.

"We…um…well, you know we're supposed to be engaged, right?" She slanted a quick glance at him for affirmation. When he nodded, she took a deep breath and sailed on, "As such, we need to act like an engaged couple, every time we go out that door." A slender finger pointed almost accusingly at the innocent inanimate object.

"Oh," blew past his suddenly slack lips. Understanding was coming at him quickly and not very comfortably. Suddenly, he remembered the soft kiss she gave him yesterday, down in the bar, and how stunned it made him feel. A simple, soft kiss wasn't all she was talking about now. She meant everything an in-love and engaged couple would do in public. Hand holding, whispers, meaningful conversation, touching,….kissing. God, he hadn't prepared himself for this.

She didn't need to look in a mirror to know that her blush was deepening. Had she taken the time to look right at him, she would have seen that her color now matched his. The directions she needed to give rolled out rapidly while she studied the patterns on the thick carpeting. "We need to be convincing. We can't afford to make any mistakes, Jim. Not only do we need to know our back stories, we also need to give the best possible performance every single time. They're not the nicest of people if they think they've been misled. We have to be good at it." She forced herself to look straight at him and reiterated as strongly as possible, "Very good."

The full meaning sank in like a stone. "I get what you're saying, Trix. It won't be a problem," he said, meeting her gaze squarely. Meanwhile, all sorts of possibilities began whirling through his mind, making the game they were about to commence playing more interesting than he'd anticipated it to be. And infinitely more dangerous to his rationality. Would it cease to be a game? He didn't doubt that his breaking point wasn't as far away as he would have liked it to be. Last night was already a testament to that. "Really, it won't," he repeated again, infusing his voice with as much conviction as he could.

"Are you certain?" Doubt wavered but it wasn't doubt of him. It was entirely self-directed, much to her inner chagrin.

"It won't be that hard. We share our information, act like a normal couple about to be married. Nothing bad or that hard, really, Trix. Besides, it's not like we don't know each other," Jim said, more insistently than he should have. He was left wondering who he was trying harder to convince; Trixie or himself. "When you get right down to it, we've known each other for twelve years."

She wisely didn't mention the fact that for seven of those years they didn't exactly speak. In fact, they didn't exactly do much of anything but coexist within their families and friends. They'd both excelled at politely ignoring the other. She was left to feel extremely grateful for the truce he'd instigated and she'd agreed to during the wedding week. Without the success of that truce, they would never even be able to attempt this masquerade. Feeling as if she had explained all she possibly could, Trixie let out a small breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. "All right. If you're comfortable, then I'm comfortable."

"I am. Comfortable, that is." But he wasn't. Trixie's rather ambiguous explanation made his heart start racing, his hands start sweating, and the blood start moving faster than it should have. Coupled with the fact that she was wearing shockingly unusual outfits, putting her trim and athletic body on a display he found unbelievably attractive, he figured he wasn't going to fare well.

Because she wanted to put the embarrassment factor of their conversation behind her, she sent one last glance around the room to take stock and see if everything was ready for the upcoming search. It all appeared to be in order. Their personal papers were in the room safe, waiting for someone to crack the lock and peruse them. Jim's newly reprogrammed laptop, one that completely and totally belonged to James W. Hart, sat invitingly on a table, ready to be tested by supposedly covert fingers. His cell was purposefully sitting next to it, providing another little link to prove Jim's identity. All new and pertinent information had been taken back by Max the night before and immediately shredded, as well as her special bag of clothes from Heidi. Ritch and his friends wouldn't know what to make of a bag like that. Nothing but the fakeness of their new lives was left behind. Satisfied, she turned back and walked towards the door. "It's time, Mr. Hart. Are you ready?"

"I am. Miss Johnson," he answered, beating her towards the door. Aiming a half-grin at her, he opened the door for her and motioned for her to go first. The second their door closed behind them, her hand found its way into his. The unexpected close contact startled him, made him stare down at her in befuddled confusion.

"Comfortable," she murmured quietly under her uptilted mauve-painted lips. "Remember, Jim Hart. We have to be comfortable."

If holding her hand made him into the biggest liar imaginable, he couldn't predict what the rest of the day was going to be like. Something decidedly uncomfortable lodged itself in his throat. Tentatively, he laced his fingers through hers. God, when was the last time they'd held hands like this? He didn't have the foggiest of notions. It was too long in the past. Since words were beyond him, he started down the hall and tugged her after him.

Her hand was in his. _Her hand was in his_. Warmth started at the point of contact, made a trickle up her arm and all throughout, sending out thin beams of warmth and light. She couldn't believe it. Even with the conversation they had just partaken in, she still couldn't fathom the fact that they were walking as nonchalantly down the hall as possible, holding hands. Together. Pretending to be his fiancée, to be in total and complete love with him, was going to be much more difficult than she expected it to be. She stood at attention in the elevator, her free hand nervously clutching her purse, and the other still safely within Jim's. She didn't try to speak; didn't try to do anything other than breathe. It was about all she was capable of at the moment.

He was on the same wave-length. An uneasy yet not uncomfortable silence surrounded them during the duration of the ride. When the doors dinged open, brightly announcing their arrival at the main floor, Jim slipped an arm around her waist and reminded, "Front desk, remember?"

"Right." A monosyllabic answer seemed to be all she could manage. Together, they approached the front desk, their steps in perfect tandem. When they reached it, Trixie slipped on her sunglasses and declared, her voice more authoritative and with a trace of frost that Jim was not accustomed to hearing from her, "Beatrix Johnson. I believe there is an envelope for my fiancé and me."

The clerk lifted her head. Her mouth nearly hit the sparkling clean countertop before she remembered to close it with an audible snap. She remembered the two of them well from their check-ins of the previous day and what she'd christened them. A dime a dozen and one in a million. How had they managed to pair up? It made no sense to her. As her astonished eyes bounced from one face to the other, Maria answered haltingly, "Yes. Right. Of course. I have it right here. Mr. Ritchey left the envelope for you this morning."

Trixie accepted it without the simple courtesy of a thanks and turned her back while Jim offered the slightly stunned looking Maria a charming grin before guiding Trixie away from the desk. "What's in the envelope?" he bent down to whisper in her ear.

She stopped by a group of gracefully arranged loveseats and settees in the far corner of the room and pulled Jim down to sit with her. Knowing that someone in the room was watching them for their reaction, she hurriedly tore open the envelope and let out a loud, shocked squeal that carried across the large room, causing more than a few people to look in their direction. "Look, Jim!" she called out, leaning in close until she was practically sitting in his lap. One leg pressed up against his. She pulled out a voucher and gazed at it with rapt admiration. "Look! Just look at this! Can you believe it?"

Okay, he seriously wasn't minding the playacting. At least, not overly much, and definitely not when it was just the two of them. She was flush against his side. Willingly. It was completely natural to let a hand rest on her waist. The inch of bare skin that existed between the end of her shirt and the beginning of the skirt felt smooth and silky under his calloused fingertips. His fingers moved up and down in an unconscious reflex. "Tell me. What have we been given?"

She fluttered eyelashes thick with black mascara at him and held her find up. "We've been given five hundred dollars, courtesy of Mr. Young, to start with at the casino here in the hotel! See? It's right here!" She waved it like a triumphant flag under his nose, portraying the image of an extremely greedy sort of a woman, and then pitched her voice low, going for sultry and seductive, "Are you feeling lucky today?"

The lone finger that trailed along the side of his cheek took what was left of his breath away. Fun and flirty Trixie was definitely a force to be reckoned with and had the power to turn his brain off and his hormones on. "I guess I am," he answered, unable to match her acting abilities with anything remotely equivalent to hers.

She clapped her hands and settled more firmly against him, unaware that a generous amount of her cleavage was on display or that he was trying hard not to look. "You should be. That's not all, darling." Only she knew how haltingly the term of endearment slipped off her tongue or the effort it was taking to play her part. Worse for her, it had only been ten minutes, she realized with an inner groan. Good Lord, she didn't have the slightest idea how she was going to keep it up without melting into a puddle at his feet. "We have tickets to that musical revue I wanted to see. You remember, right? _All 80's, All The Time_?" She held up two tickets with the picture of a Madonna-look alike winking back at them. "Fabulous, right?"

"Like, totally," he remarked, totally tongue in cheek.

He surprised her. A true giggle escaped her lips. She didn't pull out a move from her repertoire. Instead, she graced him with a true and sparkling smile, one that affected him more than her barely-there clothes or shimmery, shiny make-up. "And we have reservations for lunch and dinner. Oh, this is a wonderful start to our vacation!"

"Mr. Young has definitely come through," Jim said, agreeing with her, fascinated by this side of her he hadn't realized she possessed.

"He certainly has." Because she recognized the woman hard at work on her laptop a few seats down from them as a highly valued member of Mr. Young's entourage, she spoke loudly again, "I wonder when we'll be able to meet him."

"Let's not worry about that. It'll happen soon enough. You know he wants what we have." Getting more comfortable, Jim picked up the envelope chock full of welcoming gifts for them. "He wouldn't offer us all this if he wasn't. It's a sure thing…baby," he tacked on, trying not to appear like a fool for using the endearment, and nuzzled her.

He was better at it than she'd expected him to be. He was making her believe his performance. Since she was more captivated by him than she wanted to be, Trixie bopped up from the loveseat and held out the voucher for the casino. "I say we see how lucky we are and head over to the casino. How about you? We're due for a windfall. Past due, if you ask me."

He caught a swift motion out of the corner of his eyes and realized the lady sitting close to them had snapped their picture with her cell. He came to the same conclusion Trixie had a few minutes earlier. The lady was watching them. Quite closely and very intently. Going for broke, completely ignoring his mile-wide honorable streak, extremely willing to give in to the demands of his body, all for the good of the game, of course, he thought with a sarcastic, inward chuckle aimed entirely at himself, he went in for the kill. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, fisted a hand in her mass of unruly curls, wrapped another around her waist, and pulled her against him. Shock briefly sparked on her face at his audacity. Figuring it was best to go down swinging, he didn't waste time. His lips claimed hers.

Whoa, was all she could think. Trixie first went stiff, then went weak, and finally incoherent while he led her so effortlessly where he wanted her to go. Lips against lips, tongue against tongue, body against body. She forgot where she was, forgot the reason why they were in Vegas to begin with, and could only remember the need he stirred so effortlessly within her. It was much too simple to fall into that easy and sinful pool of desire, to make a small dip last much longer than it should, to forget everything but the passion they were sharing so effortlessly.

When he lifted his mouth an eternity later, all she could do was blink foolishly back at him, the blue of her eyes darker than normal and her breath coming in short, rapid pants. He imagined the same stunned expression was reflected on his face. Hell, she was potent. And so damn desirable. Because he wanted to pull her back for a second round, he stuck his hands in his pockets where they balled into fists. "The casino," he said, his voice thick, hoarse and filled with a need he wondered if she'd recognize.

"The casino," she stammered stupidly and, needing to regain her balance, turned to her chair. In the motion of picking up her purse, she saw the satisfied grin on the woman nearby and came to the quick realization that their impromptu kiss was all caught on film. Her mind sharpened. He'd noticed, was all she could think. He'd noticed the woman, saw what needed to be done, and did it, as simple as that. Knowing that made him even more desirable to her. As if that was even possible.

Jim watched her closely, pleased to see the aftereffects on her face. It was as clear as the expensive crystal on the chandelier above them. She'd felt as much as he had. She couldn't hide it from him. And he couldn't disguise it from her. "You see, I really am comfortable," he murmured right next to her ear. A full-out lie but he wasn't going to survive her mission without some type of armor.

"Yeah, I can see that," Trixie whispered back. She kept back the truth that she wasn't comfortable. No, not at all. About as far from it as she could be. "You…you're doing great." The words sounded asinine to her ears. She cleared her suddenly parched throat and found herself staring overly long at his lips. Almost wishing to have them on hers again…who was she kidding? She was wishing to taste them again. She gave a small, much-needed shake of her head. "Let's go play."

Since he actually had the amazing right to touch her, he put an arm at the small of her back and propelled her forward, aware that their interested audience was now texting someone on her cell phone. Amazingly enough, it didn't bother him that their kiss had been watched, catalogued and was now being transmitted through cyber space. Not one bit. Being near Trixie…hell, kissing Trixie more than made up for it. A slow, satisfied masculine type of a grin began to work its way across his face. He glanced down at the head of blonde curls. Apparently, Vegas was giving him much more than he'd ever bargained for. There was only one blemish to mar his good mood, one he cheerfully chose to ignore for the time being. It wasn't real.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Nine

Her feet were aching, her head was starting to throb in total tandem with the bass of the current song, and a line of tension was forming between her shoulder blades. Holding up the charade with Jim as her partner wasn't merely proving to be challenging. It was debilitating; to her thoughts, to her heart, to her senses. Maybe it was the touches or hand-holding. Or it could be the amazing kiss they'd shared, the one in the lobby initiated by Jim. Then there was the added dimension that Jim didn't seem to be as affected by everything as she was, a big blow to her pride. To top it off, they hadn't received any feedback on their performance so far. Her nerves were rapidly disintegrating, practically before her very eyes. She was having a difficult time finding the line that divided them between Jim Hart/Beatrix Johnson and their true selves.

Contrary to her thoughts, Jim wasn't holding up nearly as well as she gave him credit for. A long day of uninterrupted time with her wasn't merely getting to him. It was practically doing him in. There were countless examples making a mockery of his control. Those beautiful eyes, as gorgeous and as deep as any afternoon sky he'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The bubbling, infectious laugh that seemed to pour so effortlessly out of her. Her dimpling smile, the hint of perfume that clung to her golden skin, the arch look she favored him with when something amused her. The soft, silky curls, the ones he longed to touch. And, of course, the kiss. Even the memory of it rendered him speechless, so much so that he hadn't attempted another one. Yeah, it all added up to make a laughingstock out of the pitifully few remaining defenses he had against her. Worse, they'd only been partners for one full day. He counted himself lucky that he hadn't slipped in a puddle of his own drool, an astonishing feat in itself. He scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping it didn't reflect how tired he really was, whether because of the charade or the length of the day itself, and glanced down at his watch. In a little more than half an hour it would be midnight. Hopefully they'd be able to head back to their suite by then. They hadn't set foot in it since they'd left it.

A harried-looking waitress bustled over to their table, an impressive assortment of drinks balanced perfectly on her small tray. She spared a nod in their direction, placed the beverages on their table, and murmured before either of them could tell her they hadn't ordered any drinks recently, "On the house. Courtesy of Mr. Young." With a swish of her hip, she was gone, off to deliver the rest of her orders.

Trixie lifted a single eyebrow and picked up the short squat glass and idly swirled the dark liquid around. Turning down the shot, which would have been her preference, wasn't a possibility, not when it came from Mr. Young himself. It was just the distraction she needed to forget about her preoccupation with Jim. Curiously, she searched through the bar. Unfortunately, she couldn't see any evidence that her prey was in the nightclub. Biting back a groan of disappointment, she raised the glass in the air and tossed it back with what appeared to be a veteran ability. She slammed it back on the small circle table and ignored the burn of the alcohol as it traveled down her throat, to settle in her stomach like a lead balloon. Then she turned to Jim, who was staring at her with an expression tinged with both admiration and amusement.

It made her recall the last time she'd taken a shot of hard liquor. The rehearsal dinner. She hadn't fared as well with it as she did tonight. She answered his look with a wry smile of her own, letting him know she recognized why he found it so funny. Leaning in, she questioned, her voice necessarily loud in the nightclub, "Hasn't it been a memorable day?" The pulsating beat from the disc jockey's station was striving hard to force the customers to keep their conversation to a minimum, as well as to kick her headache up a charming notch or two.

"It's been terrific. The casino, the restaurants, the show." Jim eyed his matching glass, trying hard not to show his distaste. Never much of a drinker, he occasionally had a beer now and again, but usually avoided the harder stuff like the plague. He wouldn't be able to suck it down with as much aplomb as Trixie had shown. "I can't believe how much we've already seen today and yet we've barely touched the surface. We've been so busy we haven't had a chance to go back to our suite yet."

"Tell me about it." Trixie angled her head to the side. The whirlwind that was their day was exhausting. Even the simple act of thinking about it made her tired. It started with a few hours in the casino, where they tried really hard to lose the generous amount Mr. Young had handed over to them. For some unknown reason, they weren't able to. They managed to hit a nice, wide, and, in her opinion, completely unnecessary hot streak. Instead of coming out even or in the hole, which had been Trixie's intent all along to further prove to Mr. Young that they were in dire financial straits, they called it quits after turning the five hundred dollar voucher into a cool three grand. Since she needed some way to make it fit their artfully arranged profile and losing big wasn't apparently going to work for them, she'd insisted on a shopping spree in one of the hotel shops where she managed to blow every single cent of their winnings. Now there were more clothes for her to sneer at patiently waiting for them in their suite and a whole new set of jewelry decorating her body. She played with the large chunk of a topaz that dangled from a gold necklace, the flashiest piece of jewelry she could find in the store, and barely resisted the urge to shudder.

After the shopping spree, they enjoyed a late lunch, watched a variety show in one of the hotel's amphitheaters, and then spent a long hour in a bar, killing time before their reservations in an expensive and trendy restaurant. They hurried over to the musical revue afterwards, where an invitation to come to the brand new nightclub came as a surprise, and not the most pleasant of ones for her. Like the drink, it couldn't be turned down even if she was wishing for the comfortable bed upstairs. Add to the fact that all of their moves had been carefully catalogued and witnessed throughout the day, which made acting like excited and enthralled tourists even more taxing and exhausting.

In a deceptively nonchalant move, Trixie swirled around on her stool and sent another long, sweeping glance over the nightclub. This time it didn't take her but a minute to discover the whereabouts of their newest observer. Ritch. Her least favorite henchmen of all. She bit back a sigh and intentionally ignored a grinning Max, who stood off in a corner, nursing a beer. He'd also spent a good portion of the day watching them, too. "There's nothing quite like living in a fish bowl," she muttered through a fake smile.

Because he could see the frustrations and the exhaustion creeping into her overly expressive eyes, Jim covered her hand with one of his, offering comfort, and leaned in. "It's been a long day," he noted quietly, too quietly for anyone else to hear but her. "It'll end soon enough."

"Gleeps, I certainly hope so." Her mouth curved in appreciation. His words comforted her, gave her the energy to look past her long list of complaints. Because she wanted to go upstairs and call it an evening, and because that wasn't an option yet, she forced her smile to widen. They were there for a reason and her gut told her it had nothing to do with another round of observations. It was different this time. Something was about to happen. It was merely a matter of when.

Taking sympathy on Jim, who was again staring in avid distaste at his beverage, she reached over, grabbed it out of his hand and plunked it back on the table, untouched. Smiling cajolingly, she tugged him off the stool and towards the crowded dance floor. "Come on, Jim," she said in what she hoped passed for a sultry voice. "We've done everything today but dance. I'm dying to try out the floor. Let's go."

Dancing, especially the kind required in a popular and well-populated nightclub, wasn't exactly on his list of activities he favored. It ranked right above having his appendix taken out. Sensing she was doing it for some kind of a reason, he followed along. "All right," he replied neutrally.

Trixie halted when a group of reveling merrymakers momentarily blocked their path. "It's the only way I could get you out of that drink," she murmured quietly over her shoulder. "I didn't think you wanted it."

"You're right. I didn't," he whispered back and followed her onto the packed dance floor. He glanced kind of helplessly around at the other dancers, who were dancing with complete abandonment, and looked back at Trixie. Amazingly, she started moving, and moving well, as fluid as the eternal flow of water and every bit as breathtaking. He took a moment to watch as her short skirt lifted and whirled around her legs, exposing a good bit of thigh, before it occurred to him that he needed to dance, too. Taking a deep breath, he started to show off his not-even-remotely close to good fast dance moves.

Thinking he looked endearing, Trixie floated back to him with a giggle and teased, "You've been practicing, I see."

He surprised her by catching an arm and twirling her around in a fast circle and snapping her back to him, one of his few successful moves in his repertoire. Her delighted burst of appreciative laughter made him grin, as did the beaming light of approval in her eyes. About to try it again, the last bars of the current J-Lo hit came to a crescendo of an ending, much to a low, grumbled protest from the many dancers crowding the floor. And then the music started up again, making him wonder why he wanted the fast stuff to end. Slow and smoky, the new song wasn't designed to make anyone's body move quickly.

"Oh, they've changed to a slow one." Grateful for the darker lighting, Trixie felt her face warm. After the briefest of hesitations, she stepped into the arms Jim opened to her, felt his hands settle at her waist and kept hers loosely around his neck. She nearly stumbled when he started guiding, had to stifle a groan at her own clumsiness, and focused on the steps. Nice and easy, she mentally berated herself. Nice and easy. Never mind the fact that being in his arms felt so beautiful and so right or that his breath across her cheek made her bones want to melt. It felt…like home. The surprising thought made her eyes widen and her fingers tighten before she forced them to relax. It took everything to concentrate on following him while the slower pace of the music soothed and surrounded them.

Jim felt it, too. Incredibly, even though they were both willingly masquerading as two different individuals, the slow pace of the dance made him believe it could be real and not merely an act. Her body in his arms, the curls tantalizing his cheek, the gentle curve of her neck as she gazed down at the floor…he forgot why they were there in the first place. It was just him, just her, just the way it should be. Like her, his hands tightened, pulled her more firmly to him, and, when she lifted startled eyes to his, he couldn't help but gaze down at her lips.

A tap on his shoulder rudely broke the current spell weaving its way around them. "You'll have to forgive me. I've come to cut in," Ritch declared, breaking their intense concentration with each other. "I want a chance to dance with the most beautiful woman in this place."

Seeing the light of battle igniting within her partner's eyes, Trixie smoothly stepped in front of Jim and nodded her acquiescence. Exactly like the drink, she didn't have the chance to refuse. It wasn't in the job description. "No problem, Mr. Ritchey," she said, purposefully using his full last name to see how he reacted. "I'd love to finish out the dance with you. I can dance with my fiancé here anytime." She aimed a flirty grin back at Jim to take any sting out of her agreement.

"Ritch," he corrected her easily. He held out his arms and invited Trixie in, all without more than a token acknowledgement of Jim. The request for the dance was three-fold. He wanted to test the boundaries, to find out how the fiancé would react. As usual, his first impression was right on the money. The man definitely owned more than a few jealous bones in his body. Secondly, he also had something of importance to impart to her. Could he have shared the information with both of them right here, right now? Absolutely. But then he wouldn't have the pleasure of finding out how she'd feel in his arms, the last and, in his mind, the most important reason for his request.

With a line of impotent fury furrowing his brow, Jim took on the role of observer for the first time all day and immediately found it to be a role he didn't appreciate. Glowering, he practically stomped his way back to their table. Because the shot looked much more appetizing now, he absently swallowed it. The expensive liquor tasted like sawdust. He didn't take his attention off the dancing couple and missed nothing.

Trixie could feel Jim's eyes drilling holes into them the entire time. She also saw him finish the shot and hid a grimace. Obviously, he wasn't a huge fan of Ritch. Neither, she admitted to herself, was she. If he didn't get better control of his hands, she wasn't going to be held responsible for her actions. She intentionally swished her hip to the side in an attempt to shake off his grip. Her lips pursed when it didn't work.

"Have you enjoyed exploring Sin City?" Ritch murmured softly, enjoying the streamlined feel of the woman under his hands. As expected, she fit perfectly. Normally he preferred a lady with more height but there was something decidedly nice about having someone much shorter, he thought with an arrogant leer.

Inwardly, Trixie imagined putting her extensive training to use on him. She didn't like the predatory gleam in his eyes. She definitely didn't like the purposeful wandering of his hands. Because Beatrix Johnson wouldn't call him out on it, most likely would be flattered by the attention, she suffered through it with a simpering giggle and a fake, feline smile, all the while imagining what she could do to him as payback. "I've adored today," she said, sighing with feigned delight.

"Tell me. What was your favorite part?" He'd received text messages throughout the day, alerting him to her whereabouts through it all. While the texts had been good, he'd been particularly fond of the pictures his employees had included. And so had his boss.

"The shopping spree!" Trixie declared without hesitation and pointed out the new necklace encircling her neck. She realized her mistake immediately when his eyes fell to her cleavage and nonchalantly placed a hand over the large topaz to hopefully conceal it from his view. "I always love it when my Jim buys me sweet things." Batting eyelashes completed the act.

"Let me see your new bauble." He pulled her hand away. While he admired the stone, he was more impressed with the way it fell between her breasts. "Sweet," he repeated lowly.

She almost shuddered and wished that the music would hurry up and end already. Regrettably, the dj didn't catch her distress signal and allowed the song to continue on its merry way. "Was your day as busy as ours was?" she wondered aloud, needing to get his attention off her chest quickly.

"Not too busy," he lied with apparent ease, choosing not to enlighten her to the fact that he'd spent most of the day rechecking their background information, searching for any loopholes or possible items that didn't match up. He was pleased to say that he came up with nothing. That, coupled with the observations from his cohorts and the clean sweep of the suite, more than showed him that the two were good prospects for Mr. Young to wheel and deal with. "Definitely not too busy to find time to dance with a gorgeously hot woman such as yourself."

It took all her training to beam up at him, all the while inwardly cringing at the way he stared back at her. "Thank you," she simpered back and passed a preening hand over her hair. Thankfully, the music finally came to a satisfactory end. Never had she been happier to have a song stop. She breathed a silent sigh of relief and stepped back out of his grasp before he could insist on another dance, more than ready to call a halt to their time together. "Would you look at that? The song's ended. Thank you so much for a lovely dance." It almost killed her to get the words out. Only the slight glint to her eyes gave her away. One quick blink and it was gone.

He didn't know the effort it took her or that she was one hell of an accomplished liar. Flattered by her apparent graciousness, he left a loose hand on her waist, much to her chagrin. "You're welcome. By the way, I have very good news for you," he remarked idly and let his hand roam a few inches downward.

She jolted when he patted her behind and forced an oddly tinkling sort of a laugh past lips that wanted to flambé him for daring to touch her in such a crude and offensive way. "Really?" she replied, her smile as brittle as cheap glass. "What could that be?"

"I'll tell you when we get back to your fiancé." Because he liked the firm flesh underneath his fingers, he left his hand there and started leading the way off the dance floor.

Trixie used the unexpected jostle of a nearby, overly exuberant couple on the crowded dance floor to her advantage. She appeared to accidentally stumble, which wasn't an accident at all, and used the misstep as a means to dig her heel into the instep of his foot. She bit the inside of her mouth, hard, to keep from chuckling at his short yelp of pain. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she gushed, feeling not apologetic in the least and hoped the revulsion she felt wasn't smeared anywhere across her face. "It was that couple over there. They pushed into me and, oh, I'm so sorry to say, I pushed into you. I hope I didn't hurt you." She fluttered her eyes to hopefully prove how sorry she was.

He barely resisted the urge to rub his foot, which felt like an iron spike had been driven into it. "No problem," he grumbled, scowling at the offending couple, exactly as she'd hoped he'd do. "It wasn't your fault."

But it was. Trixie refrained from saying that and meekly followed behind him. She kept her eyes low so as to not look directly at him; otherwise she knew she would burst out into a round of loud and rather inappropriate laughter.

Jim stood waiting at the table, hands balled into fists in his pockets. He hadn't missed a single moment of the two out on the dance floor and hadn't been able to do anything about it. When he'd taken a step towards the floor, Trixie's friend Max had sent him a short and terse text. _Don't _was all it had said. It was enough to remind him that Trixie had others on the right side of the law watching out, and, more importantly, to make him stay put. All he'd been able to do was to stew in his own fury. Ritch had successfully fueled his temper during the phone call. It was nothing compared to watching the man with Trixie. His temper was simmering.

Trixie correctly guessed Jim's emotional state the second he came back into view. She pushed past a few revelers, scurried over to his side, and threw her arms around him. In the precious few seconds they had before Ritch sauntered over to them, she ordered him, her voice low and insistent, "Let it go, Jim. Let it go. I handled it."

Handled it? More like that damn man had attempted to handle her. He thought the words, almost gave life to them, but then that bastard was right in front of them, grinning like the merriest of loons. And Trixie was now turned around in his arms, greeting the jackass with a happy chirp and a grip of steel on his wrist, obviously ordering him to follow along, which he reluctantly did. Much to his inner disappointment, there wasn't much he could do.

"Jim! It's just wonderful." Trixie babbled, not knowing exactly what she was saying but getting the words out before he could do or say something that would seriously jeopardize the mission. "During our dance, Ritch told me he had good news for us. Good news! I can't wait to hear what it is!"

Jim actually grunted out an inarticulate answer. He wrapped an arm that looked strangely proprietary around Trixie and pressed her tightly to his side. He didn't say anything else, didn't offer anything to the conversation, and merely frowned at the other man. It was the best effort he could make.

It served its purpose. Ritch got the message, loud and clear. She was obviously his. He shrugged his shoulders, tucked hands into the back pockets of his pants and rocked back on his heels. Stirring the pot was something he enjoyed carrying out-anytime, anywhere. When that pot came with a gorgeous and desirable woman as a spoon, well, he wasn't beyond copping a feel, even if it looked like maybe the owner of that pot obviously wanted to put a call out for his blood. He took it in stride, didn't take any offense to it at all, and cut right to the chase. "Here's my news. You've both passed the first set of hurdles," he declared cheerfully.

Trixie released a loud, relieved sigh and relaxed back against Jim. Some of the tension finally left her body. "We did?" she inquired curiously.

"Yes, you most certainly did." Since it seemed wiser all around to address the woman and not the fire-breathing dragon that was her fiancé, he did. "After careful consideration, Mr. Young has decided to take you two to the next level."

"What's the next level?" It was the first words he'd uttered.

Trixie could still feel the tautness in his stance. Hoping to soothe, she ran her hand up and down his back. "I didn't realize there would be a next level," she declared in a puzzled tone. "I thought checking out our backgrounds was good enough."

"Not for my employer," he answered with a negative shake of his head. "He doesn't like to hurry these things along. He likes to take his time and he always wants the full picture. As such, you'll get a chance to meet him. Tomorrow."

Trixie let out a delighted little squeal and jumped up and down. She spun around, brushed aside a loose curl, and kissed Jim full on the lips. "Everything's going as planned!" she exclaimed, her gleeful act convincing Ritch that she was exceedingly excited with the prospect of meeting Mr. Young.

Because he'd rather look at her than that sorry excuse for a man standing next to them, Jim did. He couldn't help it and, when that loose curl bounced back into place, he smoothed it back for her. "You always said it would," he stated quietly.

Beaming with barely suppressed excitement, Trixie turned within Jim's arms. "Where? When? What time?" stumbled out of her, all carefully planned to show her eagerness to further the deal.

"Whoa, there, whoa." Ritch held up both hands to slow her down. Pleased with her overly animated response, he spoke calmly. "Take your time. Calm yourself down. It's not a done deal yet. Mr. Young is merely requesting your presence at his penthouse."

She let the appropriate amount of greed and interest show. "His penthouse," she breathed out in awe.

Her response matched his picture of her perfectly. Greedy, greedy, greedy. He could relate. After all, it was one of his character faults, too. "Mr. Young has a terrific indoor pool. Bring your suits. He wants you to try the pool out, relax a bit, have a little lunch, and chat with him. All simple and easy. No pressure at all."

Seriously impressed with Trixie's convincing fawning routine, stunned that she could turn it on and turn it on so well, Jim tore his eyes off of her in time to inquire, "What time should we be there?"

Ritch reached into the back pocket of his slacks and handed over a business card. "All the essentials you need to know are right here." He turned to go, tossed a look back over his shoulder. He spoke only to Trixie. "See you around."

Trixie matched his smile with one of hers while she prayed for a shower to wash away the sliminess of the meeting. Needing to focus on something else besides Ritch, she read the information on the card and grabbed Jim's arm. The play wouldn't be over, not until they were safely behind closed doors. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek and said, "This calls for a celebration. What do you think, Jim?"

He whispered for her ears only, the low tone showing his fury, "I think I'd like to take Ritch outside first and then celebrate."

Trixie let out a giggle, not because she adored violence but because she wanted to do the very same thing. "Don't worry. We've got what we came for, Jim. We can leave now," she said instead and hooked an arm through his. Together, they sailed out through the crowd.

Fifteen minutes later, they found themselves back in the elevator, on the way up to their suite. When the elevator stopped to allow a new couple on, Jim pulled her closer to him to make more room for them. Of course, there was plenty of space for them in the large carriage but, he reasoned with an inward smirk, he wasn't about to let another opportunity slide by. There was one thing he'd discovered during the course of the day. He enjoyed touching her, even if a fictional character of her agency's creation had the right to do it and not exactly one James Winthrop Frayne II. Either way he looked at it, his arms were the ones around her and for that he was immensely grateful. He figured they could work on the rest once the farce they were playing was over. He cocked an intrigued eyebrow when she jumped at the contact.

She should have been used to it by now. Touches had happened all day, either by her or him, but, no matter how many times or who initiated, the effect was always the same. The warmth spread out from the point of contact. Then her heart would start to pick up, it would become difficult to breathe, and her stomach would start to do an impressive little jitter and jive. It happened every single time, just like now. When the elevator landed on their floor, she stepped out first, breaking the contact, with Jim a few steps behind. It was one of the first times all day they weren't touching in some way, no matter how big or small. Somehow, she realized it would be much better for her equilibrium to enter their suite without having a recent touch of his in her memory.

The second he closed the door to their suite, he watched her whip out her cell and leaned against the wall. "Are we clear?" he asked. There was a faint vein of amusement to his voice.

She caught the humor, grinned back at him and nodded. With a loud expulsion of breath, she collapsed onto the nearest chair and noticed with a small gasp of shock that it was after midnight. The next thing she did was to free her feet from her shoes, which had spent an inordinately long amount of time in the heels. "Thank goodness we're back. It's good to be here again."

And away from the countless people watching them. Living in a fish bowl, indeed. He heard her, felt the same way, and settled on a chair opposite her, in complete agreement. "It was an…ah…interesting day, shall we say?" he remarked into the quiet that felt amazingly cozy.

"Tell me about it." The headband was next. It landed on the floor by her shoes. Hands rose to give her hair a vigorous shake and liven up her curls. "Tomorrow should be even more interesting."

"That's right." Jim felt the business card in his pocket. "We get to finally meet your Mr. Young tomorrow."

Trixie nodded. "According to Ritch, he 'likes the looks of us'." She recognized her mistake immediately and stiffened. Jim's entire demeanor changed at the mention of the underling, who he very clearly detested. Not that she could blame him. Her feelings ran along the same vein.

"Ritch," he growled out and pushed himself up from the chair, in desperate need of something to do. He settled for pacing. The memories of that dance Ritch had with Trixie was enough to set his blood on fire, and not in a healthy, productive way.

That one word came out sounding like the worst swear word ever concocted. "I know," she agreed, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the memory of it herself. For his sake, she held back another shudder. "Believe me, Jim, I know how you feel."

"If it wasn't for your friend Max ordering me, first with a text and then with that ferocious glare of his, I wouldn't have stayed still." Frustrated, filled with impotent anger, Jim ran a hand through his hair and resumed his pacing. "I hated watching you with him. Hated it. He's just so…"

"Sleazy," Trixie finished for him before he could drop something less than family friendly. She slipped out of her chair, approached him and placed a calming hand on his arm. It shocked her how easy it was for her to offer him comfort. She fleetingly wondered if he'd experienced the same feeling earlier, down in the nightclub. "Jim, I've had to deal with a few Ritches a time or two in my line of work. I'll be able to take care of him, don't you worry."

"You did a nice job of spiking his foot," Jim admitted, looking down into laughing blue eyes.

"I would rather have spiked something else," Trixie shared in a conspiratorial stage whisper, earning a round of hearty masculine laughter.

His grin grew although his thoughts were more bloodthirsty than hers. Choosing not to share them with her, he pulled the business card out of his pocket. "I take it this meeting is a good thing, right?" Jim inclined his head, waited for her answer.

"Very," she replied and winked. With Jim much calmer, she returned to the comfort of her chair and tucked her legs underneath. She was itching to take off the stockings but there was no way she was going to do that in front of Jim. "It has to be. He's willing to give us his own time, with a face-to-face meeting, and in his penthouse, no less."

He agreed with her. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just be prepared to answer a few questions about your background," Trixie stated and picked up her cell phone from the table. "You need to know that we won't have any direct back-up in the penthouse like we've had all day today but we will have the second best thing." She shook the modern wonder.

"What do you mean?" He stared down at her, perplexed.

"This." She tossed him the cell. "Not only can this little baby scan an area to make certain it's clean, it also serves as a listening device. Max will be able to hear our conversation with Mr. Young. If the situation should happen to turn bad, he'll be there, ready to lead the cavalry in." The odds were definitely in their favor that nothing untoward would happen but she'd learned a long time ago to always be prepared, no matter what.

He frowned down at the technological marvel. Somehow, he found it odd that a small P.I. agency like hers would have access to such an intriguing advancement in technology. He didn't question it, though, not wanting to offend her. "Good to know," he remarked wryly and handed the phone back.

"The whole meeting should go off like clock-work. We meet Mr. Young, share a swim, eat some lunch, and then we'll come home. Don't expect him to jump at our deal, though," she warned him. "It's going to be more of an informal interview. He's going to want us to sweat a little more before he gives us any kind of a definitive answer."

He digested the information slowly. Using his analytical mind, he wondered aloud, "If what you say is true, then what will the meeting give him?"

"He's had his lackeys offer him their views on us as a couple. Obviously, he's found their reports favorable; otherwise, he wouldn't be offering us this chance." Trixie reached down, rubbed an abused arch and let out a small groan in appreciation. The contact felt soothing. "Now, it's his turn. He'll want to take some time to see if we are the type of people he wants to deal with. He has the final say, of course."

If it kept them together for a little while longer, he was fine with Mr. Young intentionally spinning their wheels. "I'm glad I remembered to pack my swimming trunks," he chuckled, recalling how he'd tossed it in his suitcase as an afterthought.

Swimming trunks. Bathing suit. Her mouth fell open in a comical display. A sudden memory came back, a recollection of the options Heidi and Jocelyn had gleefully offered her to swim in. And Jim would see her in one of them. Oh, boy. She had a few doozies to choose from. Sheer terror had her standing up at once and hurrying towards the doorway. She needed to find out what was the best one. Right now. She called out as she slipped through the doorway, "If it's all right with you, I'm going to take a nice long bath and then get ready for bed. I'll, ah, see you in the morning."

Jim was left staring at her back, stunned by her abrupt departure. "Good night to you, too," he mumbled, somewhat sarcastically, and frowned. Why the hell had she left so abruptly? He took a step forward to try to find out when a knock on the connecting door caught his attention.

Unlike yesterday, Max knocked before sticking his head through the connecting door. "Hey, Frayne," he said, glancing around the room. He let out a hum of disappointment when he noticed that the person he wanted to talk to wasn't there. "Where's Belden?"

"She's taking a bath," Jim answered, trying not to picture her in the bathtub, surrounded by mountains of foamy bubbles. He cleared his throat and angled his head towards the bedroom. He almost hoped for an affirmative answer. It would give him a viable reason to seek her out. "Do you want me to get her for you?"

Max shook his head. "Nah. What I have to talk to her about will hold off until the morning…or, later this morning," he amended with a swift glance at the clock. Since he couldn't meet with her, he looked back at Jim, considered, and came to a quick decision. He'd share one of the items with him. After all, the man deserved to know. "Come on over," he invited and opened the door. "I'm waiting on Shane, another one of our…ah… investigators. We're going to play some cards together before calling it a night. You in?"

Jim wondered at the strange light that came into Max's eyes. "All right," he agreed after a moment, surprised himself that he'd been invited over to play cards with Trixie's partner. Card games were generally not his specialty, were something he didn't excel at all that well in but, if it killed a good portion of the night and kept him away from the tantalizing temptation in the form of one Trixie Belden, he figured it could be worth it.

Max's suite was nearly a carbon copy of his, only the color scheme ran towards forest green and dark brown. "Shane's busy setting up the perimeter for the night shift," Max explained over his shoulder. "He'll be back in a few minutes. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Water'll be fine." No way was he having any more alcohol, he thought with a grimace.

"Yeah. That's what I'm going with, too." Max tossed him a bottle and grabbed another for himself from the bar. All agents generally avoided alcohol when on an assignment. It wouldn't do to be impaired. After setting out a deck of brand new cards on the coffee table, he sat down. "Are you any good at poker?"

"Not really." Jim lifted a shoulder and admitted the truth with a half-grin. "We have a friend back home who's much better than me."

"Mangan, right? The DEA agent?" At Jim's shocked look, Max chuckled and explained, "Trixie's told us a little about him, and your other friends, over the years. She said that if we were ever to cross paths, it would be in our best interest not to play with him. He's your resident cardshark."

"She's exactly right." Jim uncapped his bottle, stared down into the clear liquid, stunned that Trixie talked about the Bob-Whites to her friends in California. It never occurred to him that she would share their personal lives with them, probably because she never, ever said much about them when she was home. Stupid, he thought, frowning into his bottle. Really stupid.

"She never brought your name up a lot, though, Frayne." Max smothered a laugh when the redhead's head shot straight up. The look on his face was priceless. "We've heard a lot over the years about her brothers, Mangan, your sister, and her other friend, the sister-in-law who's now expecting, but she was always rather tightlipped about you." He ran a finger over the opening of his water bottle and appeared to ponder the problem. "I wonder why."

Jim resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt. Max was staring back at him as if he knew…something. Something that amused him to no end. He quickly averted his eyes, finding it safer to study the gleaming polish of the table instead of the cool eyes staring back at him. "Don't know," he mumbled to the table, unwilling to offer any type of reasoning why Trixie wouldn't have spoken of him.

The answer, and the uncomfortable way it was given, gave life to his grin. "Relax, Frayne," Max chuckled lowly. "I'm not going to pry. Joss would if she were here but I'm not. What I am going to do, since it's clear to me that you and Belden have some rather incomplete issues hanging around you, for lack of a better definition, is to let you in on something my good friend Shane recently discovered. It adds a rather unsavory dimension to the assignment."

Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. Jim could feel it all the way down to his bones. He sat up straighter. "I'm listening."

"I'm going to set the stage first. You should know that our girl next door has made us promise something." Max hooked his thumb in the direction of Jim's suite and shook his head. There wasn't any way he could refuse the promise or break his word, once given. He didn't want to face the wrath of Trixie. "This promise involves you."

"Ah. You're supposed to watch over me, right?" Jim heaved a small sigh, a few of his worries disappearing. Some of the rigidness left his spine. "I've already kind of figured that out." Oh, and he had. During the day, anytime Trixie needed to leave, no one ever followed her. They always stayed and watched him.

"Something like that." Max flashed a grin. It wasn't quite that simple. When she brought over her special bag with her regular clothes in it, Trixie'd taken the opportunity to blast them with the order. Never, and she had been quite excessively clear on it, never was Jim to be alone. At any time. She hadn't left until he'd promised her, again. "And that's where we may be in a bit of a predicament ourselves."

"What do you mean by that?" Eyebrows snapped together and the rigidness snuck back in. Predicament didn't sound good.

"This is where the stage I've been trying to set for you gets a little more interesting." He sighed a little, already thinking of a few things he'd like to do with one member of Mr. Young's entourage. A sneer slashed across his lips. Jim would understand the look, of that he had no doubt. "You've met Mr. Young's right hand man, right?"

An ugly gleam came into his eyes. "Ritch," he spit out furiously.

He understood. Pleased, Max nodded his head. "Shane did a little digging into his background today. We thought it was only fair, you know, giving the fact that you and Trixie have been so well researched recently. Anyway, Shane discovered that Ritch has a rather… unpleasant reputation with the ladies. He's not always the nicest of guys." Max grimaced at the new information Shane had managed to turn up on the man. "He…well, let's just say that he likes things…umm…rough."

Jim's face went hard, much harder than Max expected it to be. "Not with Trix," he declared heatedly.

Max clapped him on the shoulder, in perfect accord. "You've got it. But this takes us back to our problem. You see, Belden's basically ordered us to lay off her, to focus the whole back-up team's energy on you. Worse, she made us promise we'd do it. We can't renege on our promise. She'd skin us alive if we did." And if Jim got caught in the crossfire…yeah, he didn't want to imagine her reaction. It wouldn't be pretty.

Jim digested the information slowly. "Okay," he mumbled, unable to make the full connection yet.

"And, if our attention is focused completely on you…" Max didn't finish the thought, waited patiently for Jim to do it for him.

"Then no one's watching Trixie," he breathed out slowly as comprehension dawned.

"Exactly. So I asked Shane how we can combat this little problem." Max lifted his broad shoulders. "Not that our Trixie isn't perfectly capable of taking care of herself. _She is_," he insisted fiercely, the two word sentence more convincing than if he'd used an entire diatribe to expound on her many talents.

"Right," Jim agreed, his mind whirling with the dangerous possibilities. Suddenly, the whole assignment didn't seem quite as easy or enjoyable as it had only a few hours ago. He silently vowed to do anything, as long as it helped keep Trixie safe.

"Shane's suggestion is right on the money." Max started shuffling the cards and peered into Jim's face. "Basically, we need you to stay as close to Trixie as you can, at all times. If you're near her…"

"You can watch over both of us," Jim finished for him. He let the thought sink in. "Yeah. That would work, wouldn't it?"

"Definitely." Max continued to shuffle, showing off some Vegas-style moves that left Jim seriously impressed, and stated, "We want to have all our bases covered. We're rather fond of our girl Belden, you know. We don't want to leave her alone in the dark."

He was rather fond of her, too. More than fond, if he was admitting it to himself. Jim blew out a small breath. "Do we…um…tell her about this?"

"The new information, yes. She needs to know about Ritch and the things he's capable of," Max insisted and laid down the deck. "But I think we'll keep the second part a secret, just between us. We'll keep it as on a need to know basis. Right now, she doesn't need to know about our little chat."

In complete agreement, Jim nodded his assent. "Thanks for letting me know," he said meaningfully.

Max picked up the cards again. "Well, before Shane gets back, let's see how your luck is holding up, Frayne. You and Trixie did extremely well in the casino today How about a little blackjack to kill the time?"

With the newest information swirling around in his mind, coupled with the memory of Trixie dancing with that hateful bastard, he doubted if he'd sleep much at all. Then there was the added fact of the upcoming meeting with Mr. Young himself. And Trixie herself, only a hop, skip and a hallway away from him. No question about it. It was going to be another long night for him. A small grin tugged at his lips. Playing blackjack offered a way to combat his thoughts, to battle his worries, to put a halt to any fantasies. Yeah, he didn't mind, even if he was only minutely better at blackjack than he was at poker. Settling back, he declared, "Deal me in."


	10. Chapter 10

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Ten

Another late morning. It was hard to believe. Everyone who knew him would be shocked to know that he'd managed to sleep in two mornings in a row. This time he could lay the blame on his elongated night of card playing with Max and Shane instead of on the beautiful blonde in the bedroom. Groaning as his feet hit the soft, plush carpeting, Jim slowly and carefully stretched his long body out. The aftereffects of sleep were slow to shrug off until his nose perked up. He sniffed once, twice, and then his stomach started to rumble. Sure enough, something smelled deliciously wonderful and it was coming from the direction of the kitchen. It was easy to pinpoint the smell of freshly percolating coffee but there was something else, too. Something promising, something tantalizing. When his stomach growled for a second time, he didn't waste another minute and rushed towards the kitchen, unmindful of the fact that he was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday.

His trajectory towards what he hoped was breakfast was brought to a sudden halt. The need for caffeine to jumpstart his system took a second seat to the vision in front of him. He stood in the doorway, rubbed his eyes. Sure enough, she stayed right where she was, right by the stove, with her back to him. When he blinked, she didn't fade away, proving that it wasn't one of his many dreams. She really was there. A soft voice he found incredibly sweet sang along to the music coming out of a small radio on the corner of the counter, in a terribly off-key and un-melodious kind of a way. He caught something about a last name in the words of the song. His lips reluctantly tugged up at the corner while amusement tinted his eyes. He doubted if Carrie Underwood would appreciate the performance. She would probably be more than inclined to sue the person responsible for butchering the melody of her song.

Once he got passed her rather pathetic attempt at singing, he looked at her, really looked at her, and felt as if he'd just taken a two-by-four to the gut. Lord help him, she was already dressed up for the day in one of those sexy little numbers her friends had so thoughtfully put together for her. He made a mental note to thank them if he ever got a chance to meet them. This time, it was a bright white cotton dress with orange and red splashed in countless splotches across it. It tied at the neck, left a good bit of her back bare, and fell down to her thighs. A matching red sash wrapped around her waist, accentuating her figure, and was fastened into a bow. A droopy and lopsided bow, more in line with the Trixie he knew, and positive proof that she hadn't put all that much effort into tying it this morning.

Feeling off-balance, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and tried to puzzle it out. Slowly, an unusual sense of déjà vu descended over him, making him question when he had last witnessed a scene such as the current one playing out before him. He angled his head to the side, tried to recall it. The memory pulled at him, all fuzzy and distorted, but refused to come into complete focus, not right away. It left him feeling strangely warm, peaceful and, dare he admit it, comfortable. And then that long-ago memory finally came into focus, blowing those feelings to smithereens. He remembered. Holy hell, did he ever remember.

The recent amusement dropped from his face, to be replaced with a stunned look. He had come across her, just like this, in the kitchen of Crabapple Farm, shortly before their series of fights that led to their break-up. The night they stayed together to watch over Bobby and one of the Lynch twins. He couldn't recall which one; didn't particularly care. It was one of the last times they'd spent together as a couple. And it was also the night he'd received the engagement ring from her father, the ring he had planned on surprising her with during their anniversary. The breath he drew in was long, loud and sharp, one she couldn't hear over the hiss and dribble of the coffee as it neared the end of its cycle. Thinking about the sweetness of that night was unbearably, unbelievably difficult. He strived not to. Instead, he reluctantly settled for second best. Concentrating on exhaling his next breath, he mentally catalogued the changes in her, between now and then.

More lithe, more golden, more treacherous and tortuous to his senses than she had been all those years ago when he'd stood on the back porch of her house and watched her hard at work in the kitchen, readying their dinner. Her hair was longer, shot through with natural highlights that told of the time she spent outside at the beach, and much curlier than it used to be. But the hips still swayed in the same magnificent way and in perfect time to the beat of the music, even if her voice couldn't match the tune. Then there was her birthmark behind her left knee. Eagerly, he zeroed in on it, found it just as sexy now as he had back then. Eventually his visual scan made it down to her slim and well-defined calves, to her feet that weren't bare this time but were decorated with strappy white sandals. It wasn't too much of a hardship on his part to travel the entire way back up. He allowed himself another lengthy, leisurely look, drinking in the sight of her before him, and didn't do a blessed thing to alert her to his presence.

Unaware that she had an audience, and an extremely interested one at that, Trixie carefully eyed the omelette. "Perfect," she mumbled to herself after a moment's consideration and brushed back a curl that refused to stay put. Humming lightly, she expertly moved the omelette to the plate. Next on the order was a fresh cup of coffee. She poured it out as the song finished, turned around, prepared to take her breakfast to the counter.

She stopped dead in her tracks. The mug nearly fell from her fingers when she got a good look at the doorway. She put it on the counter instead. "Jim!" she squeaked, her cheeks turning an instant and bright shade of pink. Judging from the amused smirk on his face, he'd definitely heard her rather sorrowful attempt at a singing performance. Her eyes slid almost accusingly towards the radio. Quickly, she turned it off.

Jim returned her greeting and crossed over into the room, choosing not to comment on the blush staining her face or what he'd overheard. "Smells good in here," he said after an appreciative sniff. "Better than room service."

Needing to keep busy, hoping to keep him from mentioning her poor attempt at singing, Trixie immediately offered him the mug and moved back to the counter. Concentrating on the mundane task helped mask her embarrassment and gave her time to compose herself. She despised being taken by surprise. She grabbed the plate and almost forced it into his hand. "Here," she mumbled, staring at the floor. "You can have the first one. I'll make another for me."

Since he didn't have a choice but to accept the plate, he did and carried it over to the counter. Carefully positioning himself on the stool so he had the double pleasure of eating a delicious breakfast and watching her work at the same time, he took the first bite and sighed in appreciation. "This is wonderful, Trix."

She tossed him a look over her shoulder as she expertly cracked the eggs for the next omelette. "Thanks." Her nerves started to take over and could easily be blamed for the babble that started to tumble out of her mouth, "I got up about an hour ago. I, ah, didn't want to wake you up. You were sleeping like the dead when I walked by the living room so I got ready for the day and decided to make breakfast. I figured I'd wake you up afterwards, if you weren't already awake, that is."

Her rambling made him feel even more comfortable. Inwardly grinning, he shrugged a shoulder. "I guess that's what happens when you stay up too late."

His response stopped her babble better than her own mental capabilities. A befuddled frown settled on her lips. For the first time she looked at him. Her frown deepened. His clothes were the same as yesterday, except now they were disheveled and rumpled. His crisp hair stuck out in different directions, proving that he was in desperate need of a comb. And his face carried an impressive amount of stubble. Obviously, he'd worn his clothes to bed. What had he been doing?

The fact that she didn't know the answer bothered her. She hadn't had any problem with sleep; had turned in right after her bath. Sleep had claimed her the second her head hit the pillow. Another full night of rest; another minor miracle for her. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not to get so comfortable on a mission. Worse for her, she could lay her gratitude for her restful night on the person who was sitting five feet away from her. Blonde curls bounced with the slight shake of her head. Who would have thought that the person who she avoided for seven years was suddenly becoming a source of comfort and security to her? Amazing. She shook away her thoughts, looked at him again and the unsolved problem before her. "What time did you go to sleep last night, Jim?"

"Three…I think," Jim tacked on with a rueful grin and another forkful of breakfast.

"In the morning?" Trixie whirled around, shocked. She aimed the spatula in his direction. "What on earth were you doing until three in the morning?"

"After you left for your bath, your friend Max stopped by. He invited me over to his suite," Jim shared, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eyes as he continued to eat. Sure enough, he recognized the amusement that danced across her face before she neatly tucked her head away from him.

"Oh, I see." Laughter was dying to spill out. She bit the inside of her cheek to conceal it. "Umm..what did you two do?" Putting her head down, she tried to behave like the simple act of making her omelette was of vital importance. A small giggle sputtered out past her twitching lips; was quickly disguised as a cough that didn't fool him for a minute.

Wondering what she was finding so hilarious about Max inviting him over, he hesitated before answering, "We played cards. Started off with a little blackjack. When Shane came back, we switched over to poker. The time went by fast, much faster than I expected it to. I didn't realize it was so late until Max decided to call it a night." He hadn't done too badly in the game, either, coming out in the middle of the pack instead of dead last, where he normally stood at the end of any card game. His run of good luck had caught him completely by surprise.

"Did you, ah, do well?" Oh, she could picture it perfectly, recognized exactly what her friends were doing. She knew them well. And Jim would be a prime target. He was a horrible card player, almost appallingly bad. Honey had often said that her brother couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag. Quite true. Max and Shane wouldn't just catch on to that crucial little fact. Nope, they'd take full advantage of it, too. Her slim shoulders started to shake with the effort to keep the laughter in.

"Fair enough." Jim's pleasure at doing so well compared to his normal efforts started to fade when a sound that could only be termed a giggle sputtered out of her. "Come on, Trix. What do you find so funny?" he demanded, a curious line forming on his forehead.

Breathing in and out didn't help. The laughter finally escaped despite her strongest efforts to keep it in. It poured out, bounced off the walls like the rays of the sun glinting across the placid waters of a lake. When she was relatively certain her humor was contained, Trixie slid her omelette onto a plate and carefully carried her breakfast over as she made it to the counter. "Jim, I hate to burst your bubble but I think you're being fleeced," she said after setting her things down. "Max and Shane are trying to take advantage of a few simple facts here. Let's face it. You're kinda passable at blackjack but poker? Poker? Come on. You're not that good at it."

"Usually I'm not but last night…er, earlier this morning, I mean, I must have hit a good run of…" Then Jim's frown flourished and grew. He remembered how easy it had seemed last night. Now, in retrospect, it was almost too easy. Her earlier words came back to him, mocked him, and prevented him from saying anything else. He held his hands up, palms out. "Wait a minute. What do you mean that I was being fleeced?"

With a sigh, Trixie shared the cold hard truth with him. "Jim, Max and Shane are really good players. I mean, super good players. They would give our pal Daniel Mangan a run for his money and we both know how good he is when it comes to cards of any kind. Trust me on this. They're setting you up. They want to build up your confidence, let you win a little. Then, the next time you play, they'll hit you with how good they really are. You won't stand a chance."

Unsure whether to be insulted or amused, Jim lifted a resigned shoulder. He should have known better, he thought with an inward chuckle at himself. He did suck at the game. Both games, if he was admitting the truth. "Yeah, well, anyway, it was a fun experience. I'll decline, though, if they ask me again."

"Good idea." Unthinking, Trixie reached out, put a consoling hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. Not realizing what she had just done, she dropped her hand and started eating her breakfast.

The simple touch shot straight through him, astonished him. His fork clattered to the floor. Mumbling something incoherent when she raised surprised eyebrows in his direction, he retrieved it and got a new one from the drawer, all the while keeping Trixie within his sights. Dear Lord, the whole breakfast scene seemed so unbelievably domestic to him. Just like a normal slice of everyday life, like what life was supposed to be; for him and for her. He'd give anything to make it last, to make it real. Since being together wasn't in the realm of real yet, he shook his head to clear it and, determined to enjoy every last minute of it while he could; he slid back onto his seat and flashed his lopsided grin her way. "Fork slipped," he said after she looked at him questioningly.

"We've got a pretty big day ahead of us today," Trixie reminded him, completely unaware of the myriad thoughts swirling with the force of a windstorm through Jim's mind. Curling a hand around her mug, she suddenly started to feel uneasy about the day. Carefully, she added, "We're meeting Mr. Young today, remember?"

"For lunch and a swim." Recalling the time inscribed on the back of the business card, he glanced at the clock. "In about two hours, right?"

"High noon," Trixie remarked. "A fitting time, when you think about it."

"It's when all the big showdowns happened in those westerns we used to watch at The Cameo," he murmured, very nearly reaching out to twine a tempting curl that spiraled down by the side of her face around his finger. He stopped the motion just a moment before he did it, ended up taking another bite. This time, the delicious taste didn't register, not when he was more interested in touching, and, truth be told, tasting her instead. The thought slithered its way in before he could stop it, made the emerald darken and his mouth go dry. He choked down a large swallow of coffee, welcomed the burn as it trailed down his throat. It helped him concentrate on what she was saying.

"I doubt it will be quite as dramatic as Gary Cooper's showdown," Trixie giggled, completely oblivious to his inner struggle, and unintentionally made matters worse. She gave her head a tiny shake. The rowdy, untamed curls bounced with the movement, teasing and tantalizing him even more than they had before. "We'll just be ourselves being Jim Hart and Trixie Johnson, if you know what I mean." She topped it off with a light, lilting laugh.

"I've got a great memory. I won't mess up our story. Scout's honor." He held up his fingers in the tried and true manner, hoping to get a smile out of her.

It didn't work. Very deliberately, Trixie laid down her fork. All traces of her recent bout with merriment dissipated. It was time. Just like yesterday morning, there were at a place where she had to bring up an embarrassing subject, one that had to be broached, discussed and then conquered, all before they left the suite. Otherwise, they wouldn't fare all that well with Mr. Young. "Chances are that Mr. Young is not going to be interested in our work history or anything like that. He's already read up on it, thanks to our extensive backgrounds. No, the meeting today will be much more informal than that, Jim." She fought against the urge to drop her eyes, barely won, and called on all her training to find the strength to say, "He's going to want to know how we met, how we fell in love, how we got engaged. You know, that sort of thing."

Unintentionally , he copied her and put down his fork. He used the time to search his memory banks for anything remotely close to their supposed relationship in the pile of paperwork he'd memorized on his first night in Vegas. Nothing stood out; absolutely nothing. It worried him. He leaned forward and inquired, "Ahh, Trix? How exactly do we answer those questions? I don't remember reading anything about our…ah, relationship."

"That's because there wasn't anything in those papers. You see, we need to come up with the story ourselves. I'd suggest that we keep it simple." Because her hunger was abating, and quickly, Trixie pushed her half-eaten omelette away. She didn't relinquish her coffee though. Her knuckles turned white on the mug, showing her tension clearly.

So now they had to fabricate their romance. How...remarkably odd, he thought, and extremely uncomfortable. For both of them. He barely resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. Since Trixie wasn't backing down and stared intently at him through eyes that were uncharacteristically blank, he managed to choke out, "Simple. Sounds, umm, good, I guess."

"And we should also make certain it matches our background." Under the counter where he couldn't see it, her other hand started to beat out a rapid tattoo on her thigh, clearing showing her agitation with the subject. She infused her voice with a strength she didn't quite feel. Luckily, he didn't call her bluff. "Since we're supposedly from L.A., I say that we met in a nightclub. I was out with the girls, having some fun. You were out with the boys, looking for some fun. And we managed to find each other on that very fateful night. Love at first dance or something like that. He'll appreciate it, especially since he sent us to that nightclub last night."

"Yeah, a nightclub sounds simple enough." Simple, maybe, but he preferred the truth of how they met. In an ancient, run-down mansion on a steamy July day, with a shotgun in his hands and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes blasting him with a mixture of both suspicious curiosity and righteous indignation. Unforgettable, incredible, and unbelievable. How the hell he could have overlooked the potency and the promise of that first meeting for seven freaking years was beyond him.

"We can add that we danced a few dances that night, hooked up and haven't looked back since," Trixie continued, her gaze finally skirting away from him. Because she wasn't looking at him, she missed the moment the simple epiphany flashed in his eyes. "We've been together exclusively for a year. During the course of our relationship, we've moved in together, in your house in L.A., shortly after our first date, and…" Here she gave an ugly sneer at the gaudy ring resting proudly on her finger, "Have recently decided to tie the knot."

"It sounds simple enough." He couldn't imagine a more awkward conversation for the two of them to be having. Discussing an imaginary love life was exceedingly difficult. It was made even more difficult because he would give anything in the entire world to have a real one with her now, Jim admitted on a shocked breath as his burgeoning epiphany flourished and grew. He sat up straighter on his stool, glanced warily at her. He almost expected her to have read the thoughts on his face. When she didn't look at him any differently, he breathed a silent breath of purely relieved air and pointed to her engagement ring. "And the engagement? He'll want to know how that happened, right?"

"Yeah. We'll have to make it good." Underneath, her fingers started tapping double-time on her thigh. Above the counter, she looked serene and amazingly composed, a testament to her training. "We're not playing simple people here who settle for the boring or the mundane," she said with a trace of a smile on her face. "It has to be something extremely memorable, brilliant and unforgettable. Something…big."

Since it felt like the conversation was sucking the air right out of his lungs and leaving nothing else in its wake, Jim bravely attempted some levity, hoping to lighten the mood, "I suppose I didn't put the message out on the big screen at a Laker game this past basketball season, huh?"

A startled laugh slipped out. She hadn't known how much she needed to laugh until this moment. Feeling almost comfortable, her fingers finally stopped moving. She swiveled on the stool and agreed with a tilt of her head, "No, that wouldn't fit our image, Jim. It's got to be something bigger than that."

"Let me think." He ran a hand through his already mussed-up hair, mused aloud. "We could say we spent a romantic weekend in wine country. Napa Valley, right?" At her short nod, he continued, "Maybe we checked in at a beautiful bed-and-breakfast, had a romantic picnic dinner for two with lots of moonlight and roses. It's a beautiful area from what I've heard. After dinner, we went for a stroll, and then, well..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say the rest of it. Instead, he tapped the massive diamond. "This happened."

Because the picture he painted sounded awfully nice, much nicer than it should have been to her, Trixie went a little soft, a little touched, and a whole lot misty. She glanced away and resolutely blinked back the moisture. She would be damned before she let any of them fall. Not in front of him and not later, not when she was alone. "Hmm," she murmured, staring intently down into the black liquid in her mug as if it offered her a way to escape the sudden disconcerting atmosphere in the room. Quietly, she agreed, "That would definitely do it."

Softly uttered words. Jim studied her closely, her lowered head, her averted eyes, her rigid shoulders. The posture clearly stated that she should be left alone and yet…he couldn't do it. He reached out, tipped a finger under her chin, and lifted her head up. "Anything else I need to know?" It wasn't what he intended to say. But, the second he stared into the overly luminous eyes, he couldn't dredge up the courage to bring up what he really wanted to. The timing couldn't have been any worse.

"Just…just," She hastily cleared her throat and tried again. "Just don't be surprised if Mr. Young leaves us alone today. There's a good chance that he's using our meeting to see how we act on his home turf. I wouldn't put it past him to have invited us over to study us and how we act together."

"So, we get to be the main stars in his play while he gets to be the director," he inferred correctly, earning a small smile from her.

"That's one way of looking at it. Accurate, too." She swallowed the last of her coffee. A quick look at the clock on the stove told her that they had an hour and half to get ready for their infamous meeting. "Ten-thirty already," she mumbled under her breath.

He followed her gaze, saw the time and jumped up from his spot. "I'll go get cleaned up." Since he was trained correctly by his mother at a young age, he cleared his spot at the counter and carefully put his plate and utensils in the sink. "Give me about fifteen minutes."

"We've got plenty of time. There's no need for you to hurry." After waving him off, Trixie pushed herself off her stool and started cleaning the rest of the kitchen. While her thoughts should have been centered on the upcoming meeting, they were not. Instead, they revolved solely on her daydreams from years earlier. The words of each fantasy were usually different, ranging anywhere from the short and sweet to the long and flowery, but the setting was always the same. Ten Acres, Jim, and a familiar diamond solitaire ring. Her heart skipped a few painful beats. The dishwasher closed with a loud thump. "Instead I get to wear you," she grumbled and glared down at her finger. "And I get to make up a stupid and fake engagement to Jim Hart." She barely resisted the urge to kick the poor abused appliance.

When the kitchen was sparkling clean, much cleaner than any guest had a right to make it in the hotel, she stood back to admire her handiwork. Footsteps on the tiled floor brought her out of her reverie. "I thought you were getting a shower," she wondered aloud, not checking to see who was in the room.

"Already got one," was the cheerful answer.

Trixie whipped around. "Max!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to his side. "What are you doing here?"

"A little visit, a little business." He shrugged his shoulder, sniffed the air. "Maybe a little breakfast. You made omelettes this morning, didn't you?"

"Do you want one?" Trixie offered, more than willing to bring out the freshly cleaned utensils and start over again. She'd do practically anything to help keep from thinking about the upcoming meeting and the many lies she'd need to tell to make Mr. Young believe their relationship.

"Nah. No need to go to all that trouble when you've got the kitchen all cleaned up." Without waiting to be asked, Max started rummaging through the cabinets, pulled out a loaf of bread and popped two slices into the toaster. "I'll settle for toast instead." Making himself comfy and at home, he slipped a hip on a stool and sat down.

"Help yourself." The sarcasm practically dripped from her lips. Knowing it was useless to demand why he was here because he would only tell her when he was good and ready, Trixie rolled her eyes and decided to give it a whirl anyway. "All right. To what do I owe a visit from you this morning?"

"Can't I stop in for a little chat with you?" Eyes that weren't completely innocent blinked back at her. "After all, we're not really working together on this mission. Maybe I just miss working with you."

"Yeah, right," she replied with a snort that bordered on rude. She put a hand on her hip and leveled a glare his way. "There's no need to beat around the bush here, Max. We've worked together long enough for me to recognize the signs. Tell me. Something's up. What is it?"

"Nothing's up…exactly," he tacked on before merrily snagging the toast when it popped up. He accepted the butter from her and generously slathered it on. After taking a big bite, he said, "But we'll get to that in a few minutes. There's no need to hurry this, you know. First, I want to check on the status for today."

"Noon in Mr. Young's penthouse," she replied immediately, although she already knew that he was aware of the details. Men, she huffed insolently to herself before adding, "We're supposed to head up there for lunch and a swim." She took a deep breath before explaining, correctly guessing part of the reason why he stopped by for a surprise visit, "Jim and I spent our morning working on pinning down our 'relationship' so that we can answer any questions that pop up today. We agreed to keep it simple."

"Hmm," he murmured and crossed off one item on his list. Silently congratulating her, he mentally patted her on the back and speculated, "I came to a conclusion this morning. Young's not going to want to do any business with you two today, you know. He'll be more interested in getting to know Johnson and Hart and how well you two deal together. Good choice there by going with the simple, by the way. Did you 'pin' enough down for today?"

She blew out a tiny breath. "We've got a good head start. If there are any surprise questions, I'll tell him to keep it as close to normal as possible. We don't want to blow it, now that we've come this far."

"You've got me firmly in your corner, Belden. You'll get it settled. I'd lay down money on it." He finished the first slice of toast, started on the second, and craned his head. "Any coffee left over this morning?"

One eyebrow lifted high. She attempted the impossible and tried to stare him down. "I hear you had a late night last night," she stated, saying nothing else, and poured him the last of the coffee.

He accepted the cup with a disarming grin that was wasted on her. When she didn't soften, he threw up his hands. "All right, all right, you've got me," he chuckled. "Frayne told you about our little game last night, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." She slugged him on the arm and ignored his surprised cry of pain. "You won't be able to fool him again, Donovan. I've already put him back on the right track. He knows what you and Shane were trying to do to him."

"And what, pray tell, were we trying to do?" He tried to blink innocently again but it didn't work this time either.

"Fattening him up," she shot back with a small sneer of disgust. She waved a finger at him and made a tsking sound. "He's not good at poker. Believe me, I know. We played the game often enough together as teenagers with our friends. It's because he can't bluff. He's too honorable."

Somehow, she gave him the opening he needed to move on the next agenda on his list. Nice of her, he thought with a small chuckle. "You're right. He can't bluff well at all at the card table but…" Max fished his cell out of his pocket, called up a recent picture, and placed the phone on the pristine counter. "He's making up for it now. I must say that he's bluffing very well for the right audience. Or maybe it's because he's found the right partner," he couldn't resist adding, an unholy twinkle glinting in his eyes.

Trixie leaned forward, stared at the picture taken of the two of them down in the lobby, during their kiss. Her cheeks heated, her mind shut down, and her next breath came out as an audible gasp of almost painful shock and awe. "Gleeps," she muttered lowly, unable to stop looking at the picture.

"Sorry about taking it. Joss asked me to show her how Frayne was doing so I took a few shots yesterday," he apologized contritely, meaning it. "She said that he's doing better than she ever expected him to do, by the way."

"I'm glad he has her approval." While she meant for the statement to be sarcastic, she couldn't pull it off. She respected both Jocelyn's and Max's opinions too much. But she couldn't handle looking at the picture another minute. Fingers that wanted to shake pushed the cell towards him. The damage had been done, though. When she blinked her eyes, the image felt like it was etched onto her inner eyelids.

"That's not all I wanted to talk to you about this morning." Max inhaled deeply, imagining she was going to despise him for what he was about to do to her next. She had every right. He sent up a tiny prayer that he'd be able to do it without hurting her too much...and without her wanting to inflict too much bodily harm on him when he was all finished.

Her body immediately went rigid. Instantly wary, completely on high alert, Trixie turned around slowly, her eyes narrowed into thin blue slits. "What is it?" she inquired, her voice carefully devoid of any emotion.

"Just this." Max called up the next picture. This time he didn't lay it on the counter. He held it out to her instead. Not surprising, she didn't take it. "While Joss was interested in Frayne's work, she was more concerned about you and how you were handling working with him. She asked me to show her how you were holding up. As you know, she's aware of your personal history with Frayne, too," he continued on before forcefully taking her hand and placing the phone in it.

She bit her lip hard. She didn't want to look at the next picture; she knew she didn't and yet…she didn't have a choice, not with Max practically pushing it under her nose. An incoherent 'humph' passed her lips before she threw all caution to the wind, stared down at it, and immediately wished she hadn't. It would have been better for her if she had never seen it. The photo was ten times worse than the one of the two of them kissing. Hell, it made the one Honey emailed her seem pale and inconsequential by comparison. She automatically took a step back, shook her head in denial, and dropped the phone on the counter.

Max's eyebrows snapped together. "Humph, she says," he grumbled under his breath and frowned. Witnessing the aftermath had been even stronger than the kiss itself. The way she'd looked up at Jim, all wide-eyed, totally awestruck, and besotted. How Frayne hadn't been able to see it was beyond him. Max figured the mess they'd made of their relationship continued to help block out the truth of the feelings they felt for each other. It was crazy for both of them to ignore it when the truth was as blatantly obvious as the upturned, freckled nose on Belden's face. Those two belonged together. He was only starting his second day of witnessing them in action and even he knew it. "Nothing else, then, Belden?"

"Ah, you missed your calling. You should have been a photographer," she quipped lowly, hoping her reply would cut down on the lecture she felt was coming her way. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help it. Her eyes darted back for a second look. Yeah, the shot didn't get any better the second time around.

He closed out the picture, hit a few more buttons to call up a recent text. "Don't try to sidestep the issue, Belden," he warned her, glancing up while he found the right text.

Curls did a limp dance with the negative shake of her head. "Fine. I won't," she bit out and covered her chest with her arms. Because she didn't have any defense at all, she gathered her pride around her anyway and went for haughty. "Lay it out for me, Max. What is this imaginary issue of yours?"

He had more than one to discuss with her. He couldn't accurately predict how she was going to take either one of them. "It's nothing that'll hinder our mission…and it's not an imaginary issue, either. Far from it," Max replied, quietly and with a great deal of feeling. "Right now I want to talk about you and Frayne."

The 'and Frayne' made her wince. "Oh?"

He half-chuckled at the way she used another one-syllable sound. Obviously, she wasn't feeling all that articulate this morning. He chose not to call her on it. "Joss has always been much better at stating things than I am. You'll get the point much quicker than if I were to try and explain it. I'm clumsy when it comes to issues like this." Hating to do it yet knowing it might possibly help her out, he showed her the message. "She sent me the text after seeing the second picture. Read it for yourself, Belden."

_Tell her, Max. Tell her. She's wearing her heart on her sleeve_. Trixie's eyes popped open at the response from Jocelyn. Blunt, to the point and, oh, did she know it was real. Too real. Painfully real. It was hard not to let her defenses down, not when Jim was constantly by her side, especially after the unexpected flash of passion. "Right," she mumbled again and felt said heart start to flip over painfully.

"At least I got a full word this time instead of an inarticulate syllable." He scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed a hold of her elbow when it seemed like she wanted to turn away. "Listen. Joss doesn't want to hurt you. Neither do I. I'm sorry if showing you all of this does just that."

"It doesn't," she denied. Too vehemently, too strongly, too forcefully. Since jerking away from him would be seen as a weakness, she quelled the urge and made herself stare at him. It just plain sucked having the truth thrown in her face, especially when her denial could be considered paltry at best.

Because he'd always adored her and thought the world of her, he didn't push the issue. He let her have the illusion that he accepted her answer at face value and gifted her with an understanding smile. "You're one of our favorite people here, Trixie. Neither Joss nor I want you to get hurt when all this is over and you both go back to your separate lives. If everything goes as planned, this whole misadventure should only last a few days, maybe a week at the most. Just don't get hurt. Okay?"

"I won't," she assured him quickly. There was a tiny grain of truth to her answer. She wouldn't hurt any more than she had over the past seven years. She'd already suffered through the worst pain possible…she hoped. "I understand my job, my role, in all this. Believe me, I do. As you said the other day, my personal feelings can't be taken into account. I'm CDA and that takes all precedence."

He looked deeply into her eyes, hardly reassured by her answer. But he reluctantly let it go, unable to continue poking at her, no matter how gently he'd tried to do it. He was still left with the thought that he'd handled the matter with the unspeakable grace of the infamous bull in that poor, unlucky china shop. "All right," he said gruffly and patted her shoulder awkwardly, feeling brotherly towards her.

She mustered a grin, a travesty of one. "Is that all?" Expecting an affirmative, she crossed over to the door and hopefully salvation. His negative brought her up short.

"Not quite," he said, biting back an inward grimace. If the last part of their conversation had been awkward, he couldn't begin to imagine how the next part was going to make him, or her, feel. "Now that we've covered the personal side of all this, it's time to mention something about the professional. You'll have to forgive me because they seem to contradict each other. Oh, and you're probably going to hate me when we're done with it." He almost cringed as the words came out.

Her hand fell back from the doorframe. Curiosity mixed with trepidation as she faced him. Professional. What else could he bring up? "What is it now?" She hid her sudden worry behind a crisp and cool façade that was as transparent as a thin pane of glass.

Hell, it was harder than he'd imagined it would be, even harder than showing her the pictures and Joss's text had been. "It's about the performance you're giving."

Pride, of which she had more than her fair share of, stiffened her body. Frost glinted the sapphire blue. Her chin jutted out. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't all that impressive since she was still nearly a foot shorter than he was. "And what, exactly, is wrong with my performance?"

He couldn't mistake the haughtiness of her response. She'd never taken criticism all that well in the span of her career with their agency. Luckily, there'd never been a huge call for it either. She was too good. "I'll make it short and sweet," he assured her and held up a hand before she could fire a dart of a furious response back at him. "You're following too much, Belden."

"Following?" she sputtered out, her eyes slitted with annoyance. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Just…following." He lifted his shoulders, prayed for the right words to come so that he wouldn't totally tick her off. "You need to be a little more forceful with the…ah, relationship aspect of the mission, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, like in the pictures I showed you, it looks more like you're relying on Frayne and that you aren't, ah…instigating." Oh, God, how he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. An abnormal dark red filled his cheeks. He never gave in to a flush. Never.

Instigating? INSTIGATING? For one who always liked to be on the move, she went totally, completely and eerily still. She tapped first one ear, then the other, checking to see if she was hearing him wrong. "You're confusing me here, Max. Didn't you just finish telling me I should be more careful with my feelings? That, as Jocelyn wrote, I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve? What the hell do you expect of me? I can't hide my feelings and successfully…lead at the same time." A frustrated hand ran through her untamed curls.

"That part about your feelings….that was the personal side," he clarified quickly and moved a stool between them. It seemed safer all around to have a barrier from the seething mound of barely contained fury in front of him. "Professionally, well, you're doing a fine job with Frayne. He is, too. But, well, there's a lot of room for improvement. You know it. You feel it. I know you do. Just…don't hold back with him. And, well, keep yourself protected at the same time."

She threw up her hands, a portrait of frustrated astonishment. "Unbelievable," she muttered and stalked her way back into the kitchen until her sandals touched the base of the stool. "You can't have it both ways here, Max. First you're telling me to play it safe. Now I need to go for the gold." Her hands slashed through the air to punctuate each point. "I can't do both. What do you want me to do?"

How he wished Joss was here. She would have it handled it much better. His masculine touch wasn't working. That was blatantly obvious. He stumbled through his response. "I want you to do what you need to succeed but also to do everything possible that you need to hold your feelings in check. It's more of a dangerous game here than I realized it would be when the Chief suggested the fiancé switch. You've got to find the right balance, for yourself and for the sake of the mission."

"Fine," snapped out of her. Deep down, she knew he had a very valid point. It didn't show on her face or in her demeanor. "I'll take everything into consideration. You won't be disappointed."

He grabbed her elbow as she whirled away, halting her before she could angrily stomp out of the room. "Wait a second," he murmured, cursing the need for the whole conversation in the first place. The glower she aimed his way should have pulverized him on the spot. "Wait a second and calm down. Nothing good's going to come out of this if you don't get calm."

She congratulated herself on not tugging her arm out of his grip. "And?"

He popped her balloon of irritation by going with an impulsive and uncommon act; a quick, comforting hug. "We love you, Belden," he said gruffly before pulling back. "Take care of yourself and do the best that you can. That's all we want."

"Max." His name came out as a complaint while her need for a battle drained away. She dropped her face in her hands and uttered, "Thanks for that. Now I can't stay mad at you anymore."

"Yeah, well, that's what I expected." He gave her a cocky smile, the one Jocelyn fell in love with, and topped it off with a matching wink. "We'll forget most of this conversation ever took place, right?"

"Deal." She didn't hesitate before agreeing. "There isn't anything else you need to tell me, is there?"

"No." His attached _thank goodness_ was softly whispered but her alert ears still caught it.

"Okay. I still have something to say, though." She took a deep breath, poked a finger into his chest, and reminded him. "You promised me something. Remember it. Keep him safe. Whatever it takes. Take care of him at all times. I can handle myself."

The talk he'd shared with Jim in the wee hours of the morning was fresh in his mind. He's going to stick to you like a burr, he thought with an inward chuckle. She wouldn't be able to shake him. "I won't let you down, just like you won't let the agency down. He'll be watched and he'll be kept safe at all times, just like you want." Then he groaned inwardly. Somehow in the embarrassment of having to point out a few simple truths to her, he'd forgotten another major point, something she most definitely needed to be made aware of. "Ah, wait. I almost forgot. Before you head out, there's something else I have to tell you."

"Great," she grumbled and looked to the ceiling for instant salvation. When nothing was forthcoming, Trixie glanced back warily, unsure if she could take any more probes of his into her professional or personal life. It almost killed her to get out the required question. "What is it now?"

"Ritch." Max's sneer said it all. What he wouldn't give for a few minutes of quality alone-time with him. He'd make sure Ritch would never forget it. "You need to be careful around him, Trixie. Extra careful. He's more dangerous than we originally thought he was."

"Don't worry. I've already figured that one out for myself." Just the memory of the dance she'd shared with him the night before made her want to tremble with revulsion. She could almost feel his hateful touch on her and vowed to never find herself in that type of situation with him again. If she did…well, she had her extensive training to fall back on, she decided with a smile as thin and sharp as a silvery blade. "I rather hope I'll have the chance to show him how to treat a lady before all this is over."

"Good." Max followed her as she slipped out of the room. In reflective silence, they walked towards the living room and the door that connected their suites. He waited until he'd opened the connecting door before saying, "You won't see me much today but I'll be listening. I'll be there for you, should you need me."

"No. You'll be there for Jim if he needs you," she corrected, showing a trace of the obstinance that ran deep within her. His wry look made her chuckle and she waved farewell to Max as he made it through the door. She waited a full minute after his departure before gradually sinking down onto the nearest piece of furniture. Deliberately, she placed her hands on the smooth wooden finish of the decorative table, fanned them out, and nearly knocked over a small brass lamp in the process. She caught it before it fell, righted it again without thinking. Everything Max shared with her ran through her mind, incessantly and relentlessly, and left her with a damning conclusion. Instigating more in their ruse was more enticing than it should be. The thought was darkly dangerous and exceedingly exciting except for one tiny, miniscule problem. There was that pesky little organ of hers standing in the way, the one that both he and Jocelyn warned her about. Her heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Eleven

Jim whistled his way down the hall, his serviceable and plain black swim trunks bunched up in his hands, feeling strangely energetic about the upcoming meeting. Only twenty more minutes until show time. The morning had been a slow-moving one for him, even with his late wake-up. Now that it was finally closing in on noon, he was ready. He entered the living room. As was his habit, he immediately searched her out.

The cheerful greeting died on his lips. Something about her stance brought him to a jarring halt, made him look twice at her. His enthusiasm evaporated at an alarming rate. She stood at the terrace door, her back to him, and a hand splayed out on the cool glass. Head bowed, she was staring out into the great Las Vegas yonder. Something was off. Angling his head to the side, he used the precious few seconds before she realized he was there, watching her, in an attempt to reevaluate the past hour. Now that he really thought about it, she hadn't been very open or receptive, not like she'd been in the kitchen during their pleasantly relaxed breakfast. Wanting to find out how she'd react to his presence, he cleared his throat and announced from the doorway, "I've got my suit." When she didn't so much as turn around or acknowledge him, he frowned and held the article of clothing up. "I'm ready," he called out much louder than before and rocked back on his heels.

His voice made her jump. Trixie shook away the after-effects of her recent reverie, one that involved her, Max, and his astonishingly clumsy delivery in the kitchen, and swallowed a fatalistic sigh with eyes tightly closed. How the hell was she going to approach him on this one? It had been bad enough to remind him yesterday that they needed to act like a happily engaged couple while out in public. This time, she didn't have a single clue how to proceed and, judging from the seconds blissfully ticking away from the clock, there wasn't much time left. She had to do it, and now. High noon, indeed. "Ah, sorry about that," she mumbled and turned around, her cheeks tinting with the light blush of a rose. "I guess I was just lost in thought or something."

At least she was admitting she'd been preoccupied. It surprised him, her acknowledgement, and made it much easier for him to get whatever was bothering her out in the air. Without a doubt, it needed to be settled before they went upstairs and met Mr. Young. Taking control, he strode over and pointed to the sectional. "Sit, Trix. Something's up here. What gives?"

Surprising him further, she obediently sat without putting up so much as a token resistance. Her hands stayed still on her thighs. She refused to bunch up the thin cotton material of her dress. Whether she wanted to tell him or not didn't matter. She had to be professional…even on a subject as touchy, awkward and embarrassing as this one was to her. "You're right, Jim. There is something we need to go over before we get inside the penthouse," she explained and blew out a tiny breath, unsure if it was relief, trepidation or a unique combination of both she was experiencing.

His frown deepened when she didn't offer anything else. It seemed more advantageous to sit across from her instead of right by her. The view would be better. A direct line to her face where he hoped to be able to read her expression. He grabbed a chair away from a small desk, flipped it around, and plopped down on it. Hands dangled from the wooden back. He didn't look anywhere else but at her. When she didn't lift her head to meet his, he inwardly rolled his eyes and not-so-gently prodded, "Trixie? What's going on?"

She slanted a look he couldn't decipher his way. Choosing her words carefully, she started at the very beginning. "You know how you left the kitchen after breakfast, right?" she asked hesitatingly, praying she would be able to get through this one without making a complete fool of herself. At his nod, she reluctantly continued, "Well, I had a visitor stop by. Bet you can't guess who."

"Max," he supplied for her. A single eyebrow arched high. He sucked in deeply, having a strong suspicion about the content of their conversation. That damn Ritch. Green eyes frosted with frustrated annoyance. God help him if he hurt Trixie, he thought fiercely.

A large polka-dotted bag sat on the coffee table. It held her necessities for the pool, as well as her cell phone and the invaluable cosmetics case. She didn't travel anywhere without either one. Nervously, she began to play with a strap, unable to tell which was more difficult: dredging up the courage or finding the right words to explain everything to him. But she didn't have a choice. She'd been putting it off for the better part of an hour. It had to be done. Now, before they left the relative safety of their suite, before they made their way up to the penthouse. It made her grimace. Her voice was low as she said, "Max merely pointed out a few important truths to me. There's something that I need to fix with the little charade we're doing and, well, I think it might be best if I talk to you about it first before…" She stopped, twined a loose curl around a finger. Words stuttered out. "Umm, you know, doing anything about it."

Congratulations were definitely in order. He continued to focus on her and not her hair. For some unknown reason to him, her hair held some sort of superior power over him. It was tough but he managed to ignore it. He nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead, Trixie. I'm listening. If I can help you fix this problem, I will."

Her head snapped all the way up. She looked at him like that famous deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. "Maybe. But you should really hear the problem first," she suggested and barely resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands. Instead, she squared her shoulders and mumbled, "Gleeps, how on earth am I going to say this?"

"In the immortal words of Nike, just do it," he suggested playfully, his desire to help stronger than ever.

"Okay. I will." Calm, calm, she ordered herself. Don't sound like an idiot. The words came out, quicker and faster, while her cheeks began to heat with the flame of her embarrassment and her eyes darted to each side of his face, never once focusing on him. "You see, it's like this. Max pointed out that I may be making a mistake in the roles we're playing. I don't like making mistakes. In fact, I rarely do but nothing about this assignment is exactly normal, if you know what I mean. So it seems that I have to fix it. I'll need some cooperation from you here, too. I don't want to, ahh, scare you or frighten you off or anything." She stopped the torrent of words to take a much-needed gulp of air.

He was definitely curious now. "I know exactly what I got into here. You won't frighten me off," he assured her.

He didn't know exactly what he'd gotten into, she thought but didn't say. Hopefully he never would. She seriously doubted if he'd be so understanding if he ever discovered that she'd lied to him continuously throughout the whole venture."All right. Okay. That's good," she remarked hurriedly under her breath, more to herself than to him. Left with no other option, it ended up plummeting past her stuttering lips, "We did a really good job yesterday. Acting, that is. You especially. Max said so. He told me that you're leading very nicely. However, that's the problem right there. I can't always follow you. You shouldn't always lead. So that's what I need to fix in my role. I need to do something more. You know, like, instigate…" Her voice trailed off while she wrapped the strap around her hand, over and over again.

Instigate? Completely lost in the dark, unable to draw any type of conclusion with the confusing explanation babbling out of her quicker than a fast-moving brook, he stared at her with the fascinated interest a scientist gave his latest experiment. "What on earth are you talking about here, Trixie?"

She finally dropped her unwise and untimely concentration with the strap to study his face. Complete confusion. She ran a hand over her curls, wrinkled her nose, and groaned. "Gleeps! I'm not explaining this well at all."

He couldn't help but chuckle. She looked so forlorn and flustered. It was a unique experience, one he didn't mind witnessing. It made her look sixteen again and not the twenty-five he knew her to be. "I hate to say it but I've got to agree with you. You really aren't doing a great job here." He smiled to take any sting out of his words.

She released a low giggle, one tinged with the barest trace of hysteria, and repeated, "Like, you know, instigate." Her gaze flittered anxiously from his eyes to his lips and then back again. God, how she hoped he finally got the message. She didn't think it was possible for her to explain it any further to him.

It may not have been explained well but it finally got through. Instigate. She needed to…he couldn't finish the thought. Hell! Suddenly it got hot in the room, as if the central air had been ruthlessly turned off and all the heat of the dessert allowed to pour right in. He pulled at the collar of his shirt. How… incredible. Wisely, he didn't share his views on the matter. Instead, his blood started pumping at a more furious pace, making his veins hum with the oddly alluring thought. She needed to instigate. He dropped the hand that wanted to reach out for her, correctly coming to the conclusion that now wasn't the time to touch, not after her astonishing revelation. They wouldn't be making it up to that damn penthouse, of that he had no doubt, if he did touch her just then. Hoping he kept the raspiness of need out of his voice, he said in what he prayed was a calmly controlled voice, "I think I understand."

"Jeepers. Thank goodness." She finally let her body relax. A small smile tilted her lips. Even her dimples winked at her overwhelming relief. He understood! And she didn't have to say anything else. "It's like this," she continued, much more comfortable than she had been a few seconds earlier. "Beatrix Johnson is a whole lot bolder than I normally am. Just look at her clothes. I'm allowing myself to fall into the wrong pattern. I've got to stop it and really force myself to become her when we're out in public. I hope you don't mind."

Not mind? A gorgeous woman wanted to act more flirtatious and demonstrative around him? Not just a gorgeous woman but the one he'd let break away? Yeah, he minded a lot, he thought and almost, almost, snorted with self-derision but stopped himself just in time. "No," he answered in a controlled sort of tone while a few interesting scenarios started to dance before his eyes. The question wasn't if he minded. It was more of how much he'd be able to hold back, once they made it back to their suite. He couldn't help it and gazed towards the hallway, the one that led to the bedroom and that large king-size bed within. "I can honestly say that I don't mind at all."

"You can't know how grateful I am that you understood so quickly, especially when I was doing such a horrible job at explaining it," she remarked, relieved it was all over, and stood up. She didn't feel shaky or worried anymore. It was over. Looking down, she grabbed the bag and added, "You made it really easy, too. I was so afraid this would be horribly awkward for you and me."

"No more than anything else that's happened since we stumbled across each other here," he joked with half of his lopsided grin and followed her up. He held out the swimming trunks.

She accepted them and stuffed them into the bag, right next to the ensemble she would have the pleasure of wearing for their date with Mr. Young. Taking a moment to look through the bag and make certain one more time that everything was present and accounted for, she continued blithely on, "I didn't want to worry you or make you uncomfortable or anything when I…well, when I try to lead a little more. It's all for the good of the assignment. It's nothing personal, of course. You know what I mean, right?" she added, not realizing her blunder, and slipped the strap around her shoulder. She aimed a big smile his way and started to go over the particulars of their upcoming meeting.

He didn't hear a blessed thing beyond 'nothing personal.' That simple statement doused the amusement he'd found in her explanation, destroyed the enticing excitement he'd begun to feel at the many and varied ways he imagined she'd try to instigate things further, and obliterated the desire she'd conjured up. Her voice continued to drone on over and around him as she expounded on their mission, most likely reminding him of the time, place and the possible questions Mr. Young was going to hit them with, but he didn't give her the least bit of attention. Nothing personal, he thought with a glower he quickly disguised when she opened the door and ushered him through. _Nothing personal_.

Unaware that she'd unintentionally poked at an extremely painful sore, believing she'd completely smoothed all the awkwardness away, Trixie ran a hand over the lines of her dress and stepped out into the surprisingly crowded hallway. "Can you believe it's finally time?" She laughed, a tinkling little one that made a few others in the hallway glance in curiosity towards the pair. Becoming bolder, she leaned in closer and took his hand. "Let's do it, Jim. Let's go meet Mr. Young and wow him with our wonderful personalities. He won't know what hit him."

He didn't trust himself to speak. Not right then. Instead, he almost glared at their entwined hands. Nothing personal. Nothing personal. Nothing…personal. It ran through his mind again and again like the most unpleasant of mantras, taunting and frustrating him as she tugged him along the hallway, chatting merrily away, totally oblivious to his inner turmoil.

When the elevator doors closed, Trixie finally became aware that she was carrying on an extremely enthusiastic and decidedly lopsided conversation with herself. Concerned, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Maybe he wasn't as confident as he'd said he was. Because there was a critically important situation glaring brightly just ahead of them, she grabbed his arm. "Are you all right?"

How he wanted to give life to his frustrations. God, it would be so easy, maybe even allow himself a bit of relief. But, as he looked down into those worried blue eyes, he couldn't do it, not now, not when she was counting on him to give the best performance he possibly could. Besides, he thought with a cheerless sort of an inward laugh, it wasn't her fault that it was very personal to him. Each second he spent in Las Vegas with her only proved to him how personal it truly was. "Just something I have to sort out on my own," he said and mustered up a travesty of a smile for her sake.

Her hand hovered over the emergency button. "Jim, we can stop. We don't have to go through with the meeting. It's not too late. Not yet." Instantly worried, she almost pushed the button.

He reached out, captured her hand with his, and tucked it back down by her thigh. "We've come this far, Trixie. Let's see how much further we can push this."

Her jubilant smile was his reward. Automatically, she turned her hand over, held onto his, and squeezed, hoping to offer some reassurance even if he professed not to need it. "If I can help you with…whatever….let me know, okay? It's the least I can do after all you've done for me."

Unconsciously, his thumb traced small circles on the top of her hand, something he'd done countless times when they were an official couple. He didn't realize what he was doing; she couldn't help but notice. "I'll take you up on your offer. We'll talk, when all this is over."

She nodded and tried to quell the sudden flock of butterflies swarming in her stomach. Such a tiny, tiny thing he was doing. Really, not much at all and yet…and yet…it brought back countless memories, nearly flooded her with them. Painfully and bitterly sweet. Because she couldn't cope with them, because she had something more imperative to attend to, she took a figurative step back and tugged her hand out from his to swipe at that damn curl of hers, the one that never stayed in its proper place. Hiding behind her job, she turned instantly serious. It was safer all around. "You remember everything, right? Our story, the directions I gave you in the suite, all of that?"

The back story he remembered. After all, they'd created it only a short time ago in their cozy kitchen. The directions…yeah, he didn't have so much as a single clue. He'd been preoccupied at the time. "Quick refresher on the directions would be nice," he suggested while the elevator brought them closer and closer to their destination.

She granted him a peculiar look. Jim never forgot anything. "I'll check the area for cameras after we get inside. Max is going to send me a text so that I can complete the scan without drawing any type of suspicion. It's only a formality, though. You should expect them. I do. Everything we do will be recorded for Mr. Young's further evaluation after we leave. Keep it nice, easy and relaxed. Max will be able to hear the whole meeting with the help of my cell. Should something feel like it's going to go wrong, I'll get us out as quickly as I can. Food and drink should be safe for us to have. There's no reason for it not to be. However, my cell is equipped with something…unique, shall we say. It will beep three times to alert us if something happens to be drugged. Obviously, don't eat or drink if you should hear that. And stay with me the whole time. Probably the only time we'll be apart is when we get dressed for the pool." She paused, considered, and then added, "Should there be any problems, we need to have a codeword or something like that to alert the other."

Wow, he really should have paid more attention in the suite. Nothing she said had penetrated through his dark thoughts. "How about the bob-white whistle?" he suggested after a moment.

Her eyes lit up with genuine delight. "Perfect," she agreed immediately. "Do you have any other questions?"

"No. I've got everything now." Because he'd actually paid attention. They stood quietly side by side as the elevator arrived at its destination. The ding that announced its arrival felt as loud as a shot from a canon on a crowded battlefield. He almost laughed at his sudden bout of nervousness and trailed after her into the hallway.

Before knocking on the door, she turned, knowing it was time to start the charade. There would be a camera outside the door. Laughingly, she pressed her body against his and gave him a long kiss that could only be termed celebratory. After his initial surprise, Jim cooperated nicely. Very nicely, she thought dreamily. Before she became totally lost in the overwhelming sensations assaulting her body, she pulled out of the circle of his arms, proud of herself for successfully leading. "Let me knock. I want them to know we're here."

Without any delay, the door opened to a uniformed butler, one who put the Lynch's Harrison to shame. Formidable and foreboding. Dressed in stark black and white, with a haughty expression on his face, he stared down his long, thin nose at them, obviously holding the two in serious contempt. "And who are you?" he demanded in a superior tone of voice.

Trixie didn't allow herself to appear intimidated. He was only a lackey, she thought and held herself straighter. And if the butler was their hardest hurdle of the day, she would consider them very lucky. "Beatrix Johnson and Jim Hart. We have an appointment with Mr. Young." She tossed her head back to stare at him defiantly, almost daring him to contradict her.

The butler didn't say another word. He pivoted neatly on his shiny black shoes and stepped aside. Since he didn't close the door in their faces, Trixie followed, Jim close behind. She held onto his hand as they followed the unnamed butler into the penthouse, carefully memorizing the layout of the bottom floor. An impressive entry way, with two closed doors on each side that led somewhere else. An exceptionally large living area. Kitchen off to the right, with another door that most likely led to the formal dining room. A curving staircase offered at least one way to reach the upstairs living quarters where the master bedroom was most likely located. Yet another closed door to the left. She would bet every last dollar she had that was Mr. Young's office.

Jim did the opposite. He concentrated on the feel of the place. The decorator had gone for extreme lavishness, most likely at the orders of the owners. White, cream and gold was the color scheme. Apparently in every single room. Gorgeous and expensive paintings were proudly displayed. Modern sculptures that didn't make a lick of sense to him perched merrily on pedestals of all different sizes. A rug he identified as Aubusson decorated the floor of the living room. While the place should have come off as elegant or sophisticated, it somehow screamed 'I've been decorated by a professional' instead. Jim shook away the mental comparisons he couldn't help but make to the Manor House. There, tasteful and subdued elegance went hand-in-hand; the complete opposite of the home he was standing in now. It gave him a better look into the mindset of the owner of the home.

Always five steps ahead of the pair; the butler opened the French doors and finally stopped, glowering back at them. "The pool is on the enclosed terrace," he explained loftily. This time he deigned to motion for the two to go through the door.

Trixie didn't let his attitude bother her. Gripping Jim's hand tightly, she skipped down the trio of steps until her sandals touched the tiled floor of the indoor patio. She saw Mr. Young immediately but, because she wanted to appear floored and impressed by the home he lived in, she focused instead on the large windows that encased the entire patio. Looking up, she let out a squeal and pointed out the sky to Jim. "Look!" she exclaimed in the throatiest voice she had. "We can see the sun and the clouds. And we're still inside. Isn't it the most amazing thing you've ever seen?"

Before Jim could answer, Mr. Young made his presence known. Smiling in approval, he made his way over to the apparently awestruck couple, his expensive Italian leather loafers making no sound. "It truly is amazing. I wanted the architect to bring the outside in and he most certainly delivered," he replied congenially, enjoying his first up close look at the blonde. Much better than the pictures from yesterday, he thought and risked a quick glance towards Ritch, who hovered discretely in the background, ready to make his prearranged entrance at the appropriate time. He gave a slight bow to the couple. "I'm delighted with your approval."

Although she'd seen him the second she stepped through the door, Trixie allowed a shocked look to enter her face, to make him believe she'd been taken by surprise, and clutched Jim's hand in an outwardly display of excitement. "Jim, it's really him!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper, practically jumping up and down in her excitement.

Her acting skills continued to impress him. Jim held on tightly, sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn't do anything to mess up the meeting for her, and responded lowly, "You've been waiting a long time to meet him, Trix."

"And I've been waiting a long time to meet you," Mr. Young declared jovially. With black hair streaked with white and more than a few wrinkles on his face, he looked every bit his age. He could almost be taken for a regular man who dealt completely within the normal confines of the legal business world. But there was an aura surrounding him, one of suppressed power and potential danger. Neither Trixie nor Jim missed it. He held out a firm hand to Jim, sized up the redhead in one quick and accurate moment. Protective, quiet, and respectful of his girl. All positives in his book. The blonde deserved to be taken care of. "I'm Eric Young. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. I'm Jim Hart." It amazed him how easily the lie slipped out again. He slipped his arm around Trixie's shoulder. It astonished him how much he wished the next words were true. "This is my fiancée."

"Beatrix Johnson," Mr. Young declared before Jim could introduce her. He didn't waste a single moment. He took both her hands in his, held them out to the side, and nodded approvingly at the gorgeous sight standing before him. She was beautiful. "I've heard a lot about you in the past few days, my dear. A whole lot."

"I trust most of its been…good," Trixie remarked flirtatiously, adding a feminine giggle for good measure.

"Most of it is very good," Mr. Young shot back, laughing with her and pleased with his first impression. If everything continued along such a pleasant road, he didn't doubt that they'd be doing business before the weekend was finished. However, he wasn't one to rush. There were too many pitfalls in his chosen work not to be wary and careful. "But not all. According to my reports, you've been rather naughty." He tsked and wagged a finger at her.

Knowing he referred to the item hidden in her shoulder bag, Trixie tried to look repentant and utterly failed. "I know," she said, giving up and laughing again. "I know. But it's all for a good cause." She winked broadly at Jim. "Our cause."

"We'll talk about how you came to acquire such a valuable piece of merchandise later." He spread out his hands to include the beauty of the sky above. "Today is much too beautiful of a day to discuss any sort of business. I plan to spend a good portion of it on pleasure." And it did give him pleasure to see the two of them in action, to watch them, to get his own feel for the couple and see if they were worthy of working with. As much as he would love to own the piece she offered to peddle, he wouldn't okay any part of the deal, not until he knew for certain if he wanted to deal with them. He sent a long, searching glance over the patio, reminding himself that he hadn't come so far without remembering he needed to trust the people he worked with.

"Pleasure," Trixie purred out, her eyes half-closed. "I'm fine with that. It sounds like a wonderful idea to me. Don't you think, Jim?"

He had to tear his gaze away from her face. Something about her soft, half-closed eyes pulled at the purely male part of him. "We don't have anything else on our agenda today," he answered hoarsely.

Just then, Trixie's cell phone let out a cheerful little chirp. "Oh!" she exclaimed and started pawing through her bag. "I wonder who that could be," she mumbled and pulled out the bright pink cell with a triumphant giggle that made Mr. Young smile indulgently at her. "Look at that. It's a text from one of my girlfriends back home," she explained, intentionally holding the phone near Jim so no one else could get a clear view on it. One quick tap on her special app had the entire bottom floor of the penthouse searched, from end to end. Exactly as expected, surveillance cameras were everywhere and were turned on. "She can wait. This is much more important. I'll respond to it after we leave." She slipped the phone back into her bag.

Pleased she was willing to put aside a text in favor of their meeting, he gifted them with a benign smile. "You two must be thirsty. Please, join me over at the bar. I have some lovely wine I'd love for you to try." He led them over to a corner where a long, curved mahogany bar took up most of the room. Acting as bartender, he slipped behind. Without asking, he pulled out an unopened bottle of Merlot and held it out. "Would you care to inspect it?"

Seizing the opportunity, Trixie took the bottle and ran a reverent finger over the label. "This brings back such memories," she breathed out. "Don't you think so, Jim?"

He caught on quickly. Their cover story. Impressed with the ingenious and seamless way she introduced it, he leaned forward and read the label to himself. "Great memories," he murmured and pressed a whisper soft kiss to her forehead.

Mr. Young took the bottle back, curious about the by-play between the two. "Share your great memory with me," he invited while setting up three crystal glasses on the bar. "I love to hear a good story."

Thinking she'd giggled more in the past ten minutes than she'd done in the past year, Trixie released yet another one and shared while running a finger up and down Jim's arm, "Oh, Mr. Young! It was so special. A while back my fiancée here surprised me with a special weekend. Napa Valley. It's a beautiful place, truly peaceful. And it became one of the most wonderful weekends of my life."

"Yeah. It was memorable. We got to drink a lot of wine," Jim interrupted, earning a half-hearted slap on the arm from his 'fiancée' for his lighthearted joke.

"That's not why it was special," she exclaimed in an exasperated voice, inwardly pleased by Jim's insertion. His instincts were right on the money, proving that he was a better partner than she'd originally pegged him to be. Not that she should really be surprised. Jim excelled at anything he did. He was a definite asset, too. They were coming off as a solid couple to Mr. Young, of that she had no doubt. Jim's joke showed an entertaining side to them, one she knew he'd take note of and appreciate. "You'll have to excuse my fiancé," she said with a roll of her eyes towards Mr. Young.

Satisfied with his guests, Mr. Young watched them over the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip. "Wine's one of my loves," he confided and gestured towards the full wine rack behind him. "I'm a huge collector of it. I've even paid exorbitant amounts for a few bottles. It sometimes drives my wife crazy."

"We have a small wine rack at home. It's nowhere near as impressive as yours, though. Someday." She tacked on a small wistful sigh, hoping her answer showed her to be the envious opportunist she was trying to portray.

"It takes time." Mr. Young offered the two their glasses and watched closely as Trixie took a dainty sip. He appreciated her small sigh of pure contentment, thankful she enjoyed the taste of it. "But enough about me and my wine fetish. You never got around to telling me why your trip to Napa Valley was so memorable."

"Oh!" Trixie carefully put down her glass. She blinked her eyelashes in rapture. "The weekend would have been wonderful anyway. A beautiful bed-and-breakfast, wine tours and tasting, breathtaking scenery…" She let out a long, low hum of approval. "Who could have asked for anything more?"

"I did," Jim inserted. He lifted up her left hand, turned it over. The sunlight streaming through the windows caught the diamond.

Mr. Young got the picture immediately. "Lovely," he murmured, meaning it. Leaning across the bar, he pulled her hand for a closer look and examined the hunk of diamond shrewdly. "Gorgeous piece of jewelry you've got there," he decided after a moment. "Once my wife sees it, she's going to want one just like it."

Interesting tidbit. Trixie suddenly had a better understanding of why Jocelyn and Heidi chose this particular ring for her. Because he'd brought up his wife, she felt it safe to inquire, "Where is your wife, Mr. Young? Will we have a chance to meet her? I'd love to tell her how pretty your home is. It's downright perfect. Exactly what I would want." She sent a covetous glance around the room.

He generally did not involve his wife in any of his under the table business dealings. "She's not available today," he said with a trace of regret. "It's a spa day for her, I'm afraid. I won't see her until well into the evening but I will pass along your compliment. She'll want to hear it." Assuming they'd simply follow him, he carried his wine glass over to a shaded table near the pool.

"Wow. A spa day. How luxurious." Forgetting her glass, she followed behind Mr. Young like the sycophant she was trying to be. They ended up at a table topped with crystal clear glass and sheltered by exotic potted palms and a large rainbow-colored umbrella. The pool, a beautiful freeform, was off to the side, its waters shimmering and shining as brightly as the diamond on her finger, tantalizing anyone to come inside for a dip. She let the bag slip to the floor.

Mr. Young saw her glance towards it, recognized the envy on her face. He knew their financial difficulties as a couple kept them from the more expensive comforts. It was flattering to see her envious of his wealth. A fine compliment, he decided after a quick study, from a fine woman. "I see you're anxious to try out my pool, Trixie," he inferred and picked up her bag. "Please do. Changing rooms are over there."

Trixie's eyes followed to where he was pointing. Two wooden doors, side by side, just waiting for any guests to enter and change. She accepted the bag and pasted a huge smile on her face. "I could use a swim today," she remarked after a minute and offered Jim his suit.

After Mr. Young shooed them away, they walked towards the changing rooms together. It made Jim nervous to have her out of his sights, even for only a few minutes. The only person he trusted in the whole penthouse was standing next to him. "Remember. Whistle," he mumbled for her ears only. Trixie acknowledged it with another smile and sailed on into her changing room. He reluctantly left her to it and entered his. It didn't take him long to change at all. He carefully folded up his clothes, looked at the common wall they shared between their rooms, and tried hard not to think of her readying for swimming inside. Since he couldn't elongate his preparation without drawing suspicion, he reluctantly exited the changing room and approached Mr. Young at the table, where he was calmly sipping the last of his wine.

"Try out the water, Jim," Mr. Young invited, gesturing towards the pool, a little grin on his face. "I keep it at a comfortable seventy-eight degrees, all the time. The perfect temperature, if you ask me. Not too warm…not too cool. It's just right. Go on. Dive right in."

Left with no other option, he took the man's advice. After depositing his clothes on a chair, he executed a neat dive, resurfaced and acknowledged Mr. Young's clapping hands with a small nod. Because he didn't feel like partaking in a long swim with Mr. Young watching his every move, he ended up swimming over to the side of the pool and propped himself on a built-in ledge. Water gently lapped around him while he spread his arms out behind him and settled back against the edge of the pool, the perfect portrait of relaxed negligence. "You're right. It is comfortable," he said into the quiet.

Mr. Young stood, picked up Jim's almost full glass of wine, and deliberately meandered his way over. When he drew nearer, he put the glass down on the floor. "Here's your drink."

"Thanks." Jim didn't make a move to drink it, Trixie's earlier warning running through his mind.

Mr. Young pulled over a lounge chair and sat down at the end of it. "I have to say that I've been anxious about meeting the two of you," he said without preamble, surprising Jim with his sudden forthrightedness.

Great. He was on his own. Again. He didn't look back to see if Trixie was coming out. No, he did what he'd done the day before, during Ritch's unexpected phone call. He concentrated on the conversation, hard, and gave the best answers he could. "Trixie's been anxious and very excited about meeting you, too. I realize you said that you didn't want to do business today but…can I at least tell her that it's going well?" he inquired, having a feeling the man would appreciate a direct question. "I want to make her happy."

"You can tell her that I'm enjoying your company," Mr. Young shot back, his dark brown eyes lighting up with merriment. The young man before him rose up in his estimation. He appreciated a straight shooter. "While we're waiting on that pretty little thing of yours, why don't you share with me how the two of you met?" Elbows on knees, he leaned forward. No one in his employ had been able to turn up much personal information on the two as a couple. He knew everything about their finances, about their work history, but he knew next to nothing about them as a couple. He was anxious to find out more, to help fill in any holes.

"We met in the normal way of things, especially when you live in L.A.," Jim shared with a grin. Grateful for the story they'd concocted together, he added, pitching his voice low, "It was a dark and stormy night…"

"Naturally," Mr. Young quipped back, chuckling again.

"No, it wasn't," Jim admitting with a charming grin. "Really, it was like any ordinary night. I was out with a few friends of mine, celebrating the end of another long work week. We ended up at a popular nightclub. Normally a nightclub isn't my scene. I'm not the best of dancers, you know," he confided.

"Hmm," Mr. Young agreed. "Ritch mentioned to me that you didn't look all that comfortable on the dance floor last night."

"He's right." The smile froze on his lips. Jim hoped the revulsion he felt for that particular employee wasn't evident anywhere on his face. "But back to my story. I wasn't looking for anything other than some fun and then…she came in." He finished on a long, low sigh.

"Blondes do it every time." He took a healthy swallow of his wine and clapped Jim on the shoulder. "I've been married to my blonde for over twenty-five years. Our story's remarkably similar to you. Only we didn't meet in a nightclub. We met in a local corner bar. Mulligan's," he reminisced. Like Jim, he sighed, too.

Jim nearly stiffened at the contact and forced himself to relax. "Congratulations on reaching the quarter-century mark. In this day and age, that's quite a feat."

"We've got a fondness for blondes in common, Jim Hart." Mr. Young shook his head and then his finger at the younger man. "As well as a fondness for certain other things, too. The only difference is I can afford them. Right now, you and that gorgeous girl of yours can't. Don't try and deny it. I've seen the files. I know the type of desperate straits you're currently in."

"We're planning on improving it. Right here. Right now. Right in Vegas." Because Jim Hart couldn't deny it or allow himself a show of outraged fury, Jim Frayne settled for a small shrug of the shoulder and went for bold. "You could make our current situation much better and give us our answer right now. Trixie wants it to be a yes."

More laughter rang out, bouncing off the glinting tiles of the floor. "All in good time, my friend. All in good time. I haven't fully finished my research yet." A thorough man, he didn't make a move until he had all the information he needed. His instincts were telling him they were a solid couple, that they weren't hiding anything from him and yet…he hadn't come so far without turning over every single possible stone there was. There couldn't be any doubts. His empty wine glass clinked on the glass table top.

On cue, a new person entered the scene. "Mr. Young," Ritch called out, his voice low and respectful, not sounding at all like Jim had heard him the night before, and started walking towards them.

"Ah, there's my most trusted employee right now." Mr. Young turned and motioned him over. "Come and meet Jim Hart. As you know, he is one-half of the team we may or may not be working with in the very near future."

Since he wasn't there to help further any type of conversation along, was present only to get his boss out of the way, Ritch barely spared a nod in the direction of Jim. "We seem to have run into a slight problem with the new venture out on the East Coast, Mr. Young. We have a teleconference set up for you already in your office. Everyone should be in place in about five minutes."

Mr. Young carefully stood up from the lounger and dusted off his khaki slacks. "This is unexpected," he said, frowning. "I thought I told everyone that I didn't want to be disturbed this afternoon."

"It couldn't be helped," Ritch explained and ran his hand over his bald head for good measure. Of course, there wasn't a teleconference or any sort of a problem. No, they were heading to the office where they would watch their guests, courtesy of the many surveillance cameras he'd personally installed in the penthouse a few years ago. He, for one, couldn't wait. It made the fact that he hadn't seen Johnson yet in her bathing suit that much more palpable.

"The problems of being in charge," he grumbled with a remorseful smile. "My apologies, Jim. Please extend them to your lovely fiancée, too. I need to be there. Enjoy the pool and the lunch. It should be served soon. I'll return if I'm able to." He reached down to shake Jim's hand and then left the patio, Ritch trailing behind him in his wake.

Jim watched Mr. Young and that bastard Ritch stride away, leaving him alone in the pool. He couldn't believe it. Trixie's predictions were coming true. No talk of their hopeful business deal. They were being left alone. It wasn't too hard for him to come to the next logical conclusion. Although she hadn't told him the results of the scan from her cell phone, he didn't doubt that she was also correct in her next assumption. Somewhere there was at least one camera zeroing in, ready to catch their private moments together. What would happen once she returned? He looked back towards her changing room. And what was taking her so damn long?


	12. Chapter 12

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twelve

Inside the changing room, Trixie studied the reflection in the full-length mirror with a concentrated intensity that was almost laughable. The dark purple bikini had been her only choice, the best of a bad lot Jocelyn and Heidi supplied to her. Most likely gleefully, she realized with a crinkle of her upturned nose. She'd found the other two bathing suits completely objectionable. The only one piece was made out of the thinnest material possible. Trixie suspected when it was wet it would have adhered to every single covered part of her body. The other choice? Another bikini, hot pink in color. If the color hadn't made her grit her teeth, then the fact that it hadn't come with a neck strap definitely sealed the deal. To put it plainly, she hadn't trusted wearing it. At least this suit covered all the necessary body parts in an acceptable manner. Correction: mostly. Its only drawback was that so much skin was left uncovered. To someone who'd always been rather unsure of her body and despised flaunting it, the bikini represented everything she didn't like. She hated putting herself on display.

Trixie turned to the side, hoping a view from a different perspective would improve her overall appearance. Scowling, she admitted that it didn't. It only made it worse. "Great," she grumbled. "Just plain great." About to flounce towards the door, the faded scar below her ribcage drew her attention. She moved in closer to the mirror. Gently, she traced it. Like the tattoo on her back, she'd never told anyone in Sleepyside about her scar. No one had ever seen it because she'd been extremely careful to never show it off. Part of her wondered if Jim would notice it, and, if he did, if he would ask her about it. As usual, one too many ifs for her when it came to Jim Frayne. Resolutely, she tore her mind away from the ponderings as swiftly as she ripped her attention away from the mirror. Although it would have been more in character to brazenly walk out the door, she made a hasty change in favor of accommodating her comfort level.

Breathing in and out, preparing herself for her entrance, she grabbed the terry-cloth cover-up out of the bag, stepped into it and pulled it up her body. An interesting shade of bright orange, it didn't exactly match or compliment the purple strap wrapped around her neck. In fact, it seemed to scream garish. She didn't care. Refusing one last look at her reflection, doubting if it would get any better, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and contemplated the door. In a few precious and waning seconds, she'd open the damn thing and then there'd be Jim waiting for her on the other side. It never crossed her mind that she was more concerned about Jim and his reaction. Amazingly, she had momentarily forgotten all about Mr. Young and the entire reason why they were in the penthouse to begin with.

The mere thought of Jim made her heart start to sigh, her palms start to sweat, and her nerves begin to swell. Through some odd quirk of fate, he was out there, waiting on her. She sent an almost fulminating look down at her body, frustrated with the entire situation. And here she was, all decked out in her swimsuit best, she realized mournfully. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the image. Added into the merry mix were the recent pearls of wisdom Max gifted her with. To make the charade work flawlessly, she would have to be ready to…instigate. Trixie tried not to give her imagination free reign, a difficult feat in itself since she was gifted with an extremely powerful imagination. Instead, she ordered herself to calm down, to take whatever happened between them with the proverbial grain of salt. Nothing personal, she reminded herself and released an unladylike snort. Yeah, right. As if anything with Jim could ever _not_ be personal.

Losing patience with herself, Trixie tossed back the curls left free to frame her face, grabbed her bag, and took charge. The changing room door flew open; hit the wall besides it harder than she expected it to. She stilled it with a competent hand before it came back to slap at her. Head held high, she glanced casually over the large patio and honed in immediately on Jim, who was already in the pool. She acknowledged his casual wave with a regal nod and sauntered across the elegantly tiled floor, her thin shoes making the flippety-flop sound that gave them their name. About halfway to her destination she realized they were alone. A sharper look to the left, then to the right, proved that Mr. Young was no longer in attendance. A small frown settled before she smoothed it away. It seemed her earlier prediction was coming true. Just as she'd expected, he wanted to watch how they interacted. How fun, was her sarcastic thought.

"I see we're alone," she called out from the table, her voice carrying lightly over the comfortable air. Her bag landed on a lounge chair with a small plop, the exact same one Mr. Young vacated a few minutes earlier. After placing her cell in the middle of the table, she gripped the sloped back of the chair with two hands, needing something to help steady herself, and flashed a brilliant smile that was two shades too bright.

"It's just you and me," Jim answered, staring across the wide expanse of shimmering water at her. He couldn't miss the bright orange of the cover-up. The edge of one lip curled up in appreciation. Her friends were nothing if not consistent with their choice of wardrobe for her. Tacky, tasteless and tawdry. An eyebrow quirked with avid interest while he pondered what was underneath. Something purple, he decided after noticing the thin strap secured around her neck. "For now," he added belatedly, his voice hoarser than it had been before.

"All right." With a philosophical shrug, she decided that it was time. Now or never. Biting the inside of her lip, staring down at the pattern on the expensive tiling of the floor, her thumbs hooked into the top of her cover-up and began pulling it down. Slowly she slid it down her torso, past her hips, and down her legs where it ended up pooling at her feet in a vivid sea of brilliant orange. Unable to even so much as peek in his direction, she stepped out of it and reached down. Carelessly, she tossed it over the back of the chair and toed out of her flip-flops next, all without so much as glancing at him. As usual, her cheeks started to bloom. She couldn't remember ever being so nervous before when on a case.

The information that their host had been called away on some type of unexplained yet pressing business perched somewhere on the tip of his tongue. But the second she started slipping out of her cover-up and her swimwear was revealed in all its splendid magnificence, all thoughts evaporated faster than a puddle of water in the nearby desert. At this moment, at this time, he couldn't call up one single articulate word, let alone manage an entire sentence. His body jerked in reflex, forcing him to sit straighter up on the ledge or fall in. The water moved quickly in a fluid protest before stopping to gently flow against him again. All he could do was stare. What the hell else was there for him to do? He couldn't look anywhere else, not when the very object of every secret fantasy of his was standing a mere five feet away, clad only in two thin scraps of material. Eye-catching, eye-popping, jaw-dropping material. He considered himself lucky that he remembered to breathe.

Normally, Jim would have focused in on her eyes first, then the rioting mass of curls adorning her face and skimming below her shoulders. It was generally in his genetic make-up to do just that, and in that particular order. Oh, not today. That tiny excuse for a bikini couldn't have been sexier if it had been made out of the softest silk imaginable. He couldn't stop looking at it. Thin straps tied in loopy bows at the appropriate spots. Neck, back and riding oh so exceedingly low on each gentle flare of the hip. He hadn't had the pleasure of viewing the back yet; could only imagine what the view looked like from that position. The color itself dazzled him. Never again would he think the color purple belonged solely to another member of their club. It was a perfect fit, a perfect match, against the tanned, toned lines of her body. It was so perfect his hands ached to feel the golden skin revealed to him; starting at the rounded tops of her shoulders and going all the way down to the very tips of her bare toes. And then trailing back up again.

A hand rested lightly on a hip. Fingers started to tap, a sure sign that nerves were getting to her. She couldn't, absolutely could not, call up the courage needed to look at him, to see what he thought of her outfit. It seemed safer all around to sneak a peek at the pool instead and the glistening water it contained. Unaware that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, she inquired casually, "Where did Mr. Young go?"

The sudden advent of her voice slammed into him with the force of a bullet from a gun. He jerked again, gulped and tried to wrap his mind around words. Any words. "Ah, yeah, umm," stuttered out of him before he faked a cough, a specialty of his when it came to her. "Right," he mumbled, staring at the tiles of the floor. Wrong move. Now all he could see were two adorable bare feet with toes topped in a vivacious shade of red. Dear Lord, was there any safe place for him to look? He released a small breath, willed himself to calm down, and tried for some articulation. After all, he reasoned, he wasn't a caveman, for crying out loud. He only had degrees from NYU and Harvard Law School decorating his office. Surely, he could manage a simple conversation. Couldn't he? "What did you say?"

Trixie stared at him in pure confusion, having no clue that he wasn't merely affected by her attire or that he was struggling to regain use of most of his mental facilities. She didn't know it was a nearly impossible feat since most of his blood was rapidly disappearing from the top part of his body, to find a blessed refuge somewhere in the vicinity below the serene surface of the water. Mindful of the cameras capturing each golden moment on film, she mustered up what she hoped was a jaunty, carefree sort of a smile. "I was asking about Mr. Young. You remember him, right? He's our host for the day," she added in case he needed more clarification. "Where did he go?"

"Oh, him. Yeah, Mr. Young." He cleared his throat again, cursed himself for his mental clumsiness, and gave the fine art of conversing yet another valiant effort. "Ritch. Mr. Young's employee?" At her confirmed nod, he forged on, feeling like the stupidest man to ever inhabit the whole of the earth, "He stopped by after I dove into the pool. He needed to talk to Mr. Young about a problem they're experiencing somewhere in one of their business ventures. We were told to enjoy the pool and the lunch that'll be set up shortly while he's away." He gave a mental pat on the back, proud of himself for finally being able to offer her the explanation, and released a relieved breath.

"Okay." She walked over to the railing. A hand trailed along it. The water separated as she daintily dipped a toe in. "So we are on our own, then," she declared quietly, not at all surprised. Normally she would have felt a tiny bit of pride at having her prediction come true. Now wasn't the time, not with little sparkles of water glinting off of Jim's chest. She hadn't missed a thing about him in her quick perusal. Not by a long shot. Here she was, in the tiniest article of swimwear she'd ever had the displeasure of wearing, and he was residing only a few short swim lengths away, looking so damn desirable and hazardous to her health. Coupled with the undeniable fact that cameras were located around the pool, ready to catch every single moment of their time together, she figured it couldn't get much better. Oh, she hastened to correct herself. It could get better. She had to stop following. She had to lead, to instigate.

With careful precision, she walked down the first step into the pool, her face as tranquil as the water itself and her emotions anything but. She successfully hid the agitation and nerves spiraling throughout her like the swirling colors viewed through a kaleidoscope. Only she knew the effort it took to keep them at bay, to present that poised and peaceful demeanor. She prayed he wouldn't ever know the effort it took to maintain such a façade.

"Yeah, Trix, you're right. We're completely on our own." He congratulated himself again for actually adding more to their conversation. Hands fisted under the water while he wished for trunks with pockets in them. Then he'd at least have somewhere to jam his hands. Sunglasses would have been good, too. Maybe he could have hidden the desire flaring so effortlessly in his eyes.

So intent on the water, she didn't glance in his direction once. "The water feels great," she said with a blithe type of a giggle. Bending down, she fanned a hand through the top of the water and watched it ripple. Normally she would have jumped right in and had done so a million times plus one at the Wheeler's lake, with him in attendance for the majority of her swims. Since she wasn't playing herself, she went with the opposite route and enjoyed a gingerly ascent into the water.

When she bent over to touch the water, he had a perfect shot at the front of her. Or, more accurately, down the front of her. It felt like he grew roots. He couldn't move. All he could do was watch, fascinated, as Trixie slowly straightened herself and went lower and lower into the water. He stayed on the ledge and closed his eyes in resignation when the water gently separated, letting him know she was fully in the pool. The glass of red wine caught his attention when he opened them again, promising him some much needed sustenance or maybe courage. Whatever. Right now he was willing to try anything. Since her cell phone hadn't beeped, declaring the liquid free and clear for consumption, he took a large sip and put it down only to look up, shocked, when he found her skillfully treading water right next to him.

Going for flirty, hoping she could pull it off and her nerves were successfully concealed, Trixie put a wet hand on his shoulder. "My glass is still over at the bar," she purred, fluttering her eyelashes furiously. "Mind if I have a taste of yours?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached around for the glass. Her torso brushed against his. Using the closeness of their bodies to her advantage, she murmured as softly as possible, so softly the cameras wouldn't be able to pick up what she was saying, and gave orders in the only safe way that she could, "Smile, Jim. We're on candid camera."

He'd already come to grips with the fact that they were being watched. A private man, it wasn't an easy thing for him to accept. However, he realized that he could do it for her. He leaned against the side of the pool. Following her lead, he mumbled quietly, "I know."

After finishing the last of his wine, fortifying herself for what she was about to do, Trixie reached back over him to put the empty glass down on the tile. Intentionally, she came up flush against the front of his body and waited. At his small start of surprise, she pushed in a little further. In a move that screamed tender but was done more out of necessity, she held onto his head and slowly drew it down towards her. Again talking quietly so her voice wouldn't be recorded on film, she reminded him, "Remember what I'm supposed to do."

Like he could have forgotten that tiny, practically insignificant little detail. A muscle clenched in his jaw. Emotions that were the ultimate antithesis of each other simmered almost excruciatingly through him. Aversion warred with desire. Aversion for that damn term: instigation. Aversion for the fact that she needed to take control because it was part of her job description right now. Aversion because she was doing it to suit her mission, not to suit her own needs. Or his. But never aversion for her. Oh, God. Never that.

Then there was desire. There was too much in him, so much so that it was almost painful, more than he'd ever thought possible. He'd much rather have her instigate because she wanted to, as much as he wanted her to. And, dear God, he was only beginning to learn how much he wanted her. Did he ever want her, so much more than to merely prove to their potential mark that they were a deeply committed couple. Current circumstances kept the conflicting thoughts at bay and tightly sealed within his closed mouth. Instead, he didn't say anything, merely stared straight back at her out of enigmatic emerald eyes.

Trixie couldn't guess at the emotions flickering across his face. They were coming and going as quickly as shadows in the advent of twilight. Inclining her head to the side as she was apt to do when something puzzled her, she almost questioned him but squelched the need for it. Now definitely wasn't the time. Instead, mindful of the cameras on them and her role in their assignment, she forced herself to move in even closer and watched the pupils in his eyes grow even larger when her chest bumped into his. Her breath hitched in her throat, her jittery stomach turned a series of impressive flops, while need flashed through her with the undeniable force of a lightning bolt. Throwing caution to the wind, deciding that once, just once, she was going to give life to all of the thoughts, all the dreams, all the desires she'd kept buried from him, she damned herself. Come hell or high water, she was going to allow herself to enjoy their moment. In one swift, deft move, aided by the buoyancy of the water, she landed on his lap.

Astonishment didn't cover it. For one long minute he swore he stopped breathing, blinking, and thinking. Trixie, his Trixie, wasn't merely sitting in his lap. She was straddling him. Her beautiful face was mere inches above his; her small hands were gripping his shoulders. And her knees rested on either side of his hips. They hadn't done anything yet and both of them were breathing heavily, as if the anticipation was as powerful as the actuality. And Jim, who'd always prided himself on acting his honorable best whenever possible, came to the only conclusion he could. Maybe, just maybe, he should give this instigation thing another thought. Maybe, just maybe, he should thank his lucky stars for somehow ending up with her in Las Vegas. Maybe, just maybe, he should allow himself to…enjoy.

Hands moved of their own accord, found refuge on the luscious curves of her hips. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, could hardly believe she was so near to him. When her arms tightened around his shoulders and her lips started their slow descent towards his, his astonishment turned into something else entirely. Cameras were forgotten, as were their fake identities, and the entire reason why they were here to begin with. He forgot everything. In that one blissful, beautiful moment, they were only Jim and Trixie, exactly as they'd been meant to be.

It felt like she was drowning, but not in the coolness of the crystal clear water surrounding her. No, into the deep emerald of his eyes instead. She was sinking in, so far and so deep, where the only place she could find any sort of a haven would be in his soul. It was the most death-defying act she could remember committing on a mission. In essence, she was giving herself over, to him. Willingly. Completely. And again, like she had so many years earlier. A large part of her hoped he didn't realize it. At least, not yet. Later, much later, when they could sort everything out. One quick intake of breath, one swift inward prayer for some sort of a salvation, and her lips were pressed firmly against his.

Hell, he loved it, having her mouth on top of his, her soft, wet skin under his fingertips. All he wanted was her. All he could ever want was her. The need chanted incessantly through his mind, sang through his blood like the beat of a primal drum. His mouth opened to hers upon contact while a hand crept up her back, to find a home in the nape of her neck and to keep her head there, just there, where she could pillage and plunder to her little heart's content and he could enjoy every single stunningly spectacular moment of it.

Although it almost hurt her to do it, Trixie ripped her lips from his and pressed her head into the welcome curve of his neck. Completely disregarding the reasoning behind their display of passion, reveling in the fact that he was enjoying it as much as she was, Trixie pressed a series of wide open mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of his neck, leading downward until she met the sharp line of his collarbone. His small groan of approval spurred her on, made her travel back up, to take a gentle tug on the lobe of his ear.

Arms tightened, muscles bunched, and his hold on sanity turned as slippery as the water enveloping them. Even though they'd almost come close to culminating their shared passions a few months earlier, only to be interrupted by his parents who had absolutely horrible timing, he couldn't believe that the need was so much more powerful now than it had been then. Unable to stand the pressure of the soft mouth busily devouring his neck, he framed her face with his large hands and pulled her back.

Worried she'd done something wrong; about to ask what, she got her answer the second she looked at his face. A long, low gasp rang out of her. The smoldering look he gave her couldn't be ignored or denied. He wanted her. Jim Frayne wanted her. Again. She felt the truth of it all the way through her rather tattered heart. "Jim," she murmured in awe, a finger caressing the line where the water met his bare chest.

"Trixie," he replied, voice hoarse with need. In one swift move, he brought her back, and slid his mouth on top of hers. Using lips, teeth and tongue, he took over without a moment's regret, either hers or his, and gave his hands permission to wander…and wander they did, going lower and higher, touching every piece of golden skin that he could reach, eliciting soft sighs and gentle moans from the beautiful woman in his arms.

Gleeps, the feelings he was creating within her were amazing, with a hint of something more to them. It almost made her feel…revered. She was lost, utterly and totally, unable to recall where they were or the reason why. All thoughts centered on him. When something brushed up against the very center of her, Trixie pulled her mouth from his and stared, her eyes the widest they'd ever been and a look of sheer and total wonder on her face. The exact opposite of what she wanted to do, she started to scramble away.

"God, Trix. Don't. Don't leave," he groaned, unashamed by his body's response to her. It was natural, real, and couldn't be masked anymore. Not by him. Strong arms stopped her from leaving. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, his deep and raspy words making her shiver, "Stay. Stay right here." Right here. Right where you belong. It slipped into his mind, into his soul, almost out of his mouth. But he was busily kissing her again, pulling her against him, and teasing them both by holding her as tightly as he could manage.

She shifted in closer, just a little bit closer so she could feel him again, and turned into him. The pleasure was so intense; it made a throaty moan of need pour out of her, one that was immediately swallowed by him. She kissed him back with all the passion stirring within. When he slipped off the ledge, taking her with him, she didn't protest. She trusted him to keep her upright, to keep from sinking into the water around them. She did feel the smoothness of the pool's wall against her back as he pressed her up against it. The water slipped and slapped around them while they each fell deeper and deeper into that deluge of overwhelming emotion.

A large hand settled on her hip, absently toyed with the bow tied there. In a move guaranteed to prove how far gone he was, he almost pulled it, nearly released it. But the opening of the terrace doors stopped him and broke the mood. Gasping, Trixie lifted her head from Jim's and flushed a bright red as the unnamed butler came into view. She gratefully tucked her head into his chest and closed her eyes against the mortification of being caught in such a compromising position. Feeling the tremors coursing through her, in perfect agreement, he gently stroked the exposed skin of her back. Since she didn't try to leave his arms, seemed more than content to stay right where she was, he held on.

The butler strode swiftly across the tiled floor, his shoes making barely any noise at all. He stared down at them from his haughty, lofty perch, obviously not the least impressed with the sight before him. "I am here to set up lunch for you," he announced, offering the barest of explanation to the entwined couple. Turning his back on them, he motioned for the two waiters behind him to start placing the silver trays on the table and didn't spare another look in their direction.

Trixie slowly slipped away from Jim, to land on the edge of the ledge again, and worked furiously hard to regain control of her body. Her hands splayed out on her thighs while a foot tapped in nervous agitation against the side of the pool. She suddenly found the pool very interesting again and stared down at the water. What the hell had she been thinking? Instigating was not going to work, not if being with Jim like that made her forget every single damn thing she needed to know. She closed her eyes and willed herself to just calm down.

Jim didn't give the butler or the waiters the slightest attention. Curious about her reaction, wondering why she seemed to be shutting down from him, he followed her over to the ledge. He didn't join her but stood next to her. Because he couldn't not touch, he put a hand that felt decidedly proprietary on her thigh. Immediately, astonished blue eyes stared back at him. Taking it as a challenge, he kept his hand there and inched closer. Bending down, he whispered in her ear, wanting to amuse her, "You're a damn good instigator, Trix. You practically killed me."

It was exactly what she needed. Laughter, pure, free, bubbly laughter, poured out of her, softening her features and chasing away her frustrations with herself. In the spirit of the compliment, she murmured, "I do try."

He tucked a curl behind her ear, grinned when it stubbornly refused to stay put and bounced back. Just like Trixie. She never stayed where she was supposed to either. It was a wonderfully, sometimes frustratingly, and yet extremely important and vital part of her. His eyes flared open when he remembered a time, a long time ago, when he hadn't respected that quality enough in her. What a fool, he thought. What a damn fool. Gently, reverently, he ran a finger along the edge of her cheek. "Thank goodness you do," he replied in a rough voice, ignoring the bustling waiters behind them. "I'm grateful for it."

Again, she saw something flickering deeply in his eyes, could feel it in the tenderness of his touch. But everything was moving too fast, too swiftly, and they were so clearly not alone. She hated putting him, and what was happening between them, on the backburner. "Well, umm…" She stopped, shot a playful look from under her lashes, and found refuge behind the truth. "I'm rather grateful for you."

His eyes flared open. Was it part of the act? Were her words real? The desire for them to be true sang through him. He opened his mouth to ask, only to be interrupted yet again.

"Lunch is served. You may partake of it at your convenience," the butler intoned in deep, almost regal tones. He clapped his hands, twice, and motioned for the waiters to depart the premises. One last look where Trixie didn't have to imagine the disdain in his eyes, and he swept out of the room, leaving them blissfully alone.

Her body began to regain its normal rhythm. However, the memory of the passion that recently exploded around them, catching them within its fiery grasp, made her suddenly shy, nervous and unsure of herself. In short, she felt like she was thirteen again, a unique sensation since she was the one who willingly set the instigation in motion. Looking for something to say, she settled on the delicious smells emanating from the table. "Are you hungry?"

He was hungry, all right, but not for food. His fingers flexed against her thigh, felt the smoothness of the skin underneath, while images of what he'd like to do with her flittered through his mind, teasing and tantalizing him. "The food smells good," he replied inanely.

She forced her lips to curve upwards. Because she couldn't handle having his hand on her for much longer, Trixie dove off the ledge, away from him, and shot a challenging look over her shoulder. "Bet you can't beat me!" she sang out mischievously and started off towards the steps, her strokes swift and sure, proof that she was more of an accomplished swimmer than he remembered her to be.

Fascinated, Jim watched her cut through the water with apparent ease. He mentally timed her, was seriously impressed with how quickly she made it to the steps. While he knew her to be a solid swimmer from all the summers they spent together at the lake, he'd never expected her to improve so dramatically. Must be living so near the ocean, he mused, unaware that the CDA put their agents through an extremely rigorous training and didn't settle for anything less than the best. Because he liked watching her, he didn't attempt to race her, barely pushing off the ledge before she set foot on the bottom step.

From the top step, Trixie turned and shot an accusatory look his way. "You didn't even try," she pouted, pointing at him.

Seeing that she was once again back in character, he followed suit. "Not the way I see it," he drawled and started a leisurely swim towards her, nowhere near as quick as hers had been. When he reached the steps, he grabbed her hand and explained, mixing a little truth in with his own acting, "I'm the one who really won. You see, I got to watch you in action."

"Oh." It was her turn to become inarticulate. Since words weren't her friend right now, she settled for an old stand-by: a sunny smile. After dropping his hand, she sauntered over to a nearby table and picked up a thick, white towel. She handed him one first; then selected one for herself and draped it around her shoulders where it flowed like a pristine white cape. She gestured towards the table where her cell phone sat on the top. As with the wine, it hadn't beeped. A good thing to know that neither food nor drink had been tampered with. "Are you ready for lunch? I can't wait to see what we're having."

He toweled off his back and then fastened it around his waist. He wasn't sure if a certain part of his lower anatomy was suitable yet for family viewing. "I'm starving," he admitted. He wisely kept it to himself that he was starving for something else besides food. Since lunch stood as an excellent buffer between them, he made his way over to the table to inspect the food.

Trixie smoothed a hand over her damp curls. Curiously, she watched him lift the silver top from the plate of food. "So. What are we having for lunch?" she asked when he didn't say anything. The towel slipped from her shoulders. Grumbling, she picked it up and tossed it back on the table. A huge mistake, at least for her, because she was suddenly, gloriously revealed to him yet again. And this time he wasn't blinded by her appearance.

Jim turned. About to answer, his reply stuck in his throat. Standing with the sparkling waters of the pool as a background, all tanned and golden, she quite simply took his breath away. There wasn't any way he could resist staring. He wasn't strong enough. His eyes roamed over her again, hotly, desirously; all ready to appreciate the petite feminine beauty before him. But then he saw something he'd never noticed before. Something new…or, at least, new to him. Since he had more than an excellent memory of her body, he knew immediately it was something she'd acquired during their years apart. A concerned eyebrow lifted, then a finger. A question started to form, was almost asked, before she called a decided halt.

Guessing what he was looking at with such a strange expression on his face, Trixie took matters into her own hands before he could bring it up. Practically flying across the few feet of tiles separating them before he could say anything, she called out with forced cheer, ordering him without words not to say a single thing about her scar, "Since you're not going to tell me what we're having for lunch, I guess I'm going to have to see for myself."

His hand fell to the side. Jim got the message. Now wasn't the time to find out the story behind her scar. It was yet another thing to push aside, to bring up later, in the privacy of their suite. However, he couldn't help but look down at her, concern evident in his eyes. Always the protector, he didn't merely _want_ to know what had happened to put such a mark on her body. He _needed _to know. But he respected her enough not to bring it up until they were alone. Swallowing the questions took an effort but he did. He gestured with the top of the silver tray. "There's no need. It's one of your favorites. Beef stroganoff."

The lines of her shoulders relaxed once again. Relieved, she put a hand on his forearm, her only acknowledgement of his willingness to put aside his curiosity, and replied, "I wonder how Mr. Young knew that beef stroganoff is one of my favorite meals. I do love it." Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she allowed Jim to hold her chair out for her and carefully took her seat.

Using the food as a distraction, he responded, "I don't know if the chef can make it as good as you do, Trix. This is one of your specialties, as I seem to recall." He smiled at her.

She flicked her white linen napkin at him before laying it on her lap. "I have no doubt that the chef here can make this meal much better than I can," she said with a roll of her eyes. After taking a small bite, she nearly groaned in ecstasy. "Whoa, am I ever right. Take a bite. It puts mine to shame." Because it seemed like such a couple thing to do, she held out a small forkful for him to try.

"We'll see," he declared loyally and swallowed the bite she offered him. "Good," he declared after a minute and added, with a quick wink, "But I still like yours better."

Having watched enough from the shadows, Mr. Young clapped his hands together and announced his presence. "Excellent! I see lunch was delivered and that you're both enjoying it. How wonderful." Pleased by what he'd witnessed so far, he was becoming more excited about a possible business relationship with the two, although he wasn't ready to commit yet. Everything was going along swimmingly. A little more time, a little more observation, a little more dipping into their backgrounds and then he'd make his decision. He sniffed appreciatively. "Hmm. Beef stroganoff. It smells absolutely wonderful."

Trixie turned in her chair to grace him with a beaming smile. "It tastes even better than it smells." Politely, she placed her fork down, unwilling to eat when he didn't have a plate. "I was just saying to Jim that it's my favorite meal. Thank you very much for lunch."

"My pleasure." He crossed over to them, put a hand on the back of her chair, and looked down into those pretty blue eyes. "It seems I owe you another apology. I only have a few minutes before I need to get back. Unfortunately I won't be able to join you for lunch, either." He punctuated his apology with a deep sigh.

Trixie batted her big blue eyes. "Jim told me that you had a little problem." She used Jim's name intentionally because Mr. Young wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him.

"It's not as little of a problem as we originally thought," he remarked. The lie came effortlessly. A careless roll of his shoulder, a tiny sheepish smile, and he added, "So I'm merely here to say my farewells for the day before attacking my issues again."

Like Trixie, Jim couldn't help but notice that Mr. Young completely ignored him. Trying not to let it bother him, he reminded himself that he was only supporting cast material, after all. But enough was enough. He wasn't willing to throw Trixie to the wolves. After taking a sip from his water glass, he deliberately put it down on the glass table where it clinked loudly, finally drawing Mr. Young's attention. Meeting the older man's eyes levelly, he remarked, "It's too bad you're having a rough time."

"No need to worry, Jimmy, my boy." Mr. Young nodded in his direction, the first time he'd acknowledged his presence, and chuckled. "Rest assured, it's nothing I can't handle." Especially since the problem was nonexistent. He kept that gem of truth to himself. Faking conciliatory, he focused on Trixie again. "But my business is going to take the rest of the day for me to iron out. I'm sorry but I need to cancel the rest of our meeting for today. Please, enjoy your lunch and the pool for as long as you'd like. You're welcome to spend the entire afternoon here. No one will bother you. I promise you that."

"We'll miss you." It seemed right to put a small, comforting hand on his forearm.

He patted her hand and smiled benignly back. "Since our business needs to be put off, maybe you'll let me make it up to you. Tell me, Trixie. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Trixie glanced at Jim and then back at Mr. Young. "None whatsoever," she hastened to assure him. "Our schedule is completely free. Even if we had something to do, we would definitely clear it for you." Taking a deep breath, she explained almost breathlessly, "You are our first priority, Mr. Young."

"I'm very pleased to hear that, Trixie." He nodded his approval, bent down, and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. He appreciated her light giggle in response. Straightening, looking only at her again and not at Jim, he promised, "I have your phone number. I know your room number. Don't worry. I'll be in touch." With a wave he was gone.

She waited until he disappeared from sight. Overlooking the desire to immediately wipe away the unasked for kiss, Trixie turned back to Jim, blue eyes lighting up with delight and her smile as wide as she could make it. "Did you hear that? Did you hear that? He'll be in touch. He will be in touch! You know what that means, don't you?"

"I certainly do." Tamping down on the need to growl and groan at the way the odious man had cheerfully ignored him the entire time and then actually kissed his girl, Jim mustered up a lazy grin. He reached out, fingered a damp curl, and murmured, "Congratulations. It looks like everything is going down exactly as you'd said it would. I admit it, I had my doubts about your plan from the beginning but you definitely knew better." Remembering their financial portfolio, or lack thereof, he inserted, "He's going to want to buy your little item and we're going to get out of debt. Thank God."

"Yes! You're right! You're exactly right! Our deal is going to go through. I can just feel it." She pumped a celebratory hand in the air and let out a tiny whoop of excitement. She leaned across the chair, and, because she knew the effort it took him not to express any frustration over Mr. Young's treatment of him or the unwanted kiss, covered his hand with hers. Squeezing hard, thanking him without words, she declared, "You'll see. Everything is going to turn out perfectly perfect."


	13. Chapter 13

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter 13

The elaborate clock adhered to the wall continued to merrily tick away the seconds. It had been two hours since Mr. Young left them for the second time. Two hours of pleasant swimming, cheerful chatting, and leisurely lounging. With a sage inclination of her head, Trixie finally deemed it an acceptable amount of time for them to have spent at the pool, basking in the wealth their characters desperately wanted to achieve. She couldn't help but be grateful that it was finally time to leave. While the interlude had been extremely enjoyable, there was that annoying thorn in her side in the guise of the hidden cameras. They captured every single second. She couldn't find the guts to instigate anything after the overwhelming success of her first attempt. She looked at Jim from under her eyelashes. He seemed to be in perfect agreement with her. Neither had attempted anything that could be remotely termed passionate.

Unfolding herself from the lounger, she released a long, lazy stretch, unaware of the appreciative way he followed every fluid motion of her body before slipping into her cover-up. "As much as I could get used to this, I think we may have overstayed our welcome," she declared and tilted her head in the direction of the butler. For the past hour, he came out to the terrace in precise fifteen minute increments. She knew. She was timing him. As far as she could tell, he wasn't really doing much tidying up. All he was doing was making his presence very obvious. Every now and then he'd looked down his nose in their direction and release a long suffering sigh. Each time he did it, it made her eyes sparkle with barely concealed humor.

Chuckling, Jim got up from his chair. He'd caught the obvious signs, too. "You're right, Trix. We should be heading back." He looked at the changing rooms, swung his gaze back to hers. As much as he didn't like the idea of separating again, even for such a short time, he suggested, "Do you feel like getting changed before we leave?"

"Nah." She shook her head. Laughing gaily, hands fluttered down the front of her outfit. "I feel absolutely decadent dressed like this. Besides, we're in Vegas, Jim. Vegas! I've seen people wearing much less than either one of us. No one really cares what you're wearing, as long as you're having some fun." Striving for flirtatious, always a problem for her when it came to him, she tossed a mischievous little wink his way.

The air he needed to breathe came in one great big and almost painful gulp. That slanted little glance she aimed at him looked more appropriate on an aspiring Hollywood starlet, not on Trixie. It was such a contrast to the Trixie he knew…or, he hastily corrected himself, to the Trixie he was beginning to reconnect with. And they were reconnecting, whether they said it out loud to each other or not. There were times when he could all but hear each little click as a part of their painful past was assuaged. Trust was slowly being regained. He was impatient to get back to their suite where he planned to reintroduce a subject she'd eluded earlier. Following her example, he pulled his shirt over his head, found his shoes, and nodded in the direction of the butler, who appeared to be counting the towels on a nearby table, obviously worried that they'd managed to slip one or two into their bag. Totally straight-faced, he inquired with sham innocence, "Should we offer our goodbyes?"

The sunny sound of Trixie's cheerful giggle was his reward. "I don't think so. He wouldn't respond to us anyway." She hooked her arm through his and started breezing her way across the enclosed patio, hips swaying lightly with each movement and head held high. "Let's go back to our suite. We can take a shower, rest, and then plan out what we're going to do with the rest of the evening. Do we go out to eat or order room service? See a show or hit the casinos? There are so many possibilities here."

Possibilities. There was a certain one she hadn't mentioned, something he'd very much like to add to her agenda. A swift glance at the pool and what occurred there a short while ago replayed through his mind. He wouldn't mind a recurrence or, if he was being completely truthful with himself, finally a culmination. An intriguing, stimulating and utterly fascinating thought. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, listened as she expounded on many of the amenities Las Vegas and their hotel had to offer, and wondered if the same thought could possibly be circulating through her mind.

Trixie kept up a running montage of different possibilities, more to keep up her façade than because she really wanted to consider the many various and enjoyable options for an evening of fun in Sin City. She intentionally kept the option that appealed to her the most to herself, not once voicing how much she'd prefer to simply stay in their room behind closed and tightly locked doors…together and very, very alone. A small blush stained her cheeks while her heart skipped a laborious beat. Her hand shook slightly as she reached out to open the French doors.

Ever the efficient one, the butler beat her to it. He had to have raced across the tiles to do it, Jim mused with an inward chuckle, regretfully letting go of his daydreams. For the moment. There was always the night to resurrect them. He should know. He'd been peppered with them frequently. Jim followed behind the butler as he competently lead them to the front door where he motioned with a stiff hand for them to cross over the threshold, back into the domain he so obviously wished them to be. A barely mumbled, "Good day to you," could be heard seconds before the door closed with a smart snap, practically in their faces.

Out in the hallway, Trixie's lips started to twitch. Because an almost insane urge to laugh nearly overpowered her, she didn't say a thing until they were safely inside the elevator. "Friendly fellow," she remarked, gamely swallowing back a giggle.

"I'll be recommending him to my parents when I get back home," Jim replied, his tongue tucked ever so firmly into his cheek. Green eyes twinkling, he added, just because he couldn't help himself and it felt so damn good to be sharing a joke with her, "He'd add a certain ambience to the Manor House, don't you think?"

She couldn't contain it any longer. She really couldn't. Laughter poured out of her, in great big unstoppable waves. The image of the foreboding and unwelcoming butler working at the friendly and open Manor House was too much for her to take. Leaning against him for support, she swiped away at the tears trickling out from under her eyes and fought valiantly to regain her composure. The elevator made it down five floors before she succeeded. "Gleeps, Jim! It felt good to laugh like that."

"It's been a rather stressful trip so far, hasn't it?" he murmured. Did she realize that she'd willingly placed her body right along his? He wasn't certain. Hoping he wasn't going to break the comfortable spell around them, Jim slowly put a hand at the center of her back and breathed a silent sigh of relief when she didn't move away. Curious about her reaction, he grew a little bolder. Adding a little extra pressure, he moved his fingers out until the tips curved around the side of her waist.

"Just slightly." Trixie held her thumb and forefinger up to illustrate how small and unconsciously reacted to his touch. She leaned in closer, all without realizing it, while her giggles slowly tapered off. It was a good sign, proving without words how comfortable she was becoming around him again. He didn't make her skittish or edgy anymore.

"I'm sure the worst is behind us now," he whispered by her ear, wanted to reassure her. "Meeting Mr. Young for the first time had to have been the hardest hurdle for us. It should only get easier from here on out. As far as I can tell, the first meeting went well."

"It did." Smiling, Trixie glanced up at him. The smile almost fell off her face when she finally noticed how close they truly were to each other. Literally, not a smidgeon of air existed between them. Her one side was pressed up against his; his hand was holding onto the other. Not sure if she should stay by him or scramble away to give both of them some room, the elevator came through and offered the best solution all-around. It stopped.

Trixie was the first to step off. Outwardly, she was serene. Inwardly, thoughts were ricocheting riotously through her mind. What the hell was going on? She berated herself during the walk back to their room, while this time Jim took on the role of the conversationalist. She managed to listen with a quarter of an ear while he talked about a few options for their evening. Everything between them was changing and rearranging at an almost alarmingly fast rate, making it difficult for her to keep up. It was unnerving, especially when she was reacting to his presence without even realizing it. If she could convince herself it was for the good of the case; that would be the safe, easy route. However, it was most definitely not. And the truth of it left her disconcerted, distressed, and disturbed.

Once Jim opened the door and they were inside, she whipped out her cell and completed the obligatory scan. Unsurprisingly, it yielded nothing. She told him so with a curve of her lips. Needing some space to think about the events, to hopefully gain some much-needed perspective and examine the events of the day, both on a professional and a personal level, Trixie inclined her head towards the bedroom. "I'm practically dying to get out of this bathing suit. If Max or anyone should need me while I'm gone, tell them I'm in the shower." She turned to go, only to be brought up short.

Jim caught her arm. He wasn't letting her leave the room, not before she gave him an important answer. When she regarded him with a curiously quizzical look, he held up his free hand to stop the torrent of questions. "You can't leave just yet, Trix. Isn't there something you wanted to tell me?"

The slight widening of her eyes was the only reaction that gave her away. _Her scar._ Damn it. She'd forgotten all about it. She'd also forgotten about her unspoken promise to tell him about it when they were back in their room. Uncertain how to respond, she settled for a small, careless shrug of the shoulder, oblivious that the move came off as defensive or that Jim's shrewd eyes caught it and correctly analyzed it. Because she didn't want to share the story, she intentionally misunderstood his question and replied with remarkable good cheer, "Oh, our plans for tonight! We're free for the evening. You heard that, right? Mr. Young wants to get in contact with us tomorrow so we don't have to worry about putting on another performance for him. We're free, to either go out or stay in. We've both talked about the many options available to us. Which do you want to do?"

He had to give her credit. She excelled at sidestepping a direct question. But he wasn't letting her get away with it, not on an issue that seemed saturated with importance. One eyebrow arched, one edge of his lip curved, and he uttered one single word, simply yet powerfully. "Trixie."

Another sure sign of nerves. Hands fluttered through the air before she jerked one in the direction of the connecting door. She tried again. "I can't forget Max!" she exclaimed, her tone as overly bright as the smile pinned to her lips. "I'm going to need to give him an update. He must want one by now. He usually likes to have one as soon as possible. Maybe I'll head over to his room and see if he's ready for it now. You know, before he comes searching me out." She frowned at the door, wondered fleetingly why Max didn't come through it right now to demand a debriefing on their time upstairs. She started inching her way towards it but didn't get very far. Jim was still clutching her arm; he had never let go. And, again, she hadn't realized he was still touching her. She barely resisted the urge to snort. There was no argument here. She was getting much too comfortable around him for her own good.

He glanced up at the ceiling, shook his head, and reluctantly relinquished his hold on her arm. Before she could take advantage, tentative fingers reached out, tenderly touched the area below her ribcage where he now knew a scar resided. After their time together at the pool, he already had the length and shape of it memorized. Slowly he retraced it through the top of the soft terry-cloth. "You have something new besides that fascinating tattoo of yours Di showed us a few months ago," he murmured quietly. "While I do have a few questions about your tattoo, they'll have to wait. Right now, it's that scar of yours I'd like to know about. What happened, Trix? How'd you get it?"

Trixie would have loved to have said something flippant or frivolous, to brush aside the question and not answer it. In fact, she probably would have, if Jim had seen the scar and asked her about it a few years ago, when they weren't exactly on speaking terms or on any type of terms, for that matter. However, she couldn't ignore him now, not with the way he was staring at her. So patiently. So intently. So unerringly piercingly, as if she was as transparent as the glass door leading out to the terrace and he could see all the way through her. God, it unnerved her. He was waiting for her answer, one she'd practically promised to give him when they were upstairs, at the penthouse. After all he'd done for her, he more than deserved one, but she held back from jumping right in to do that.

It took her a second to figure out why she didn't. Sharing the answer would be a more intimate act than the passionate embrace she'd instigated upstairs. Once she answered him, once he knew, she would be letting him back in, letting him see a part of her that the others didn't know about it. For that reason alone, it was enough to make her pause, to hold herself perfectly still, to pitch her voice soft, low and answer hesitantly, "It happened some time ago, during one of our cases."

He kept his hand at her hip, unsure which one of them needed the touch more. "It happened on a case," he repeated for clarity and watched her curt nod of assent.

"Um…yeah. During work." Trixie brushed at a stubbornly defiant curl. She almost covered that damn spot below her ribcage with her other hand but couldn't, not without coming into contact with his hand. Apparently, he wasn't letting her go. The thought alternately warmed and scared her. Fighting the urge to chew on her bottom lip, she considered how much she could tell without breaking the rather stringent laws of confidentiality required by her agency. _Enough_ was the answer. She could tell him enough of the truth, enough to explain, enough to satisfy, and hopefully enough not to give away the truth of her job. He was smart. He was shrewd. If she told him too much, there was an extremely strong possibility that he may figure out something else she didn't want him to realize.

Another long, telling moment of silence. He wished he could tell what thoughts were swirling around in her mind. He couldn't, not with the oddly composed expression residing on her face. But he could tell that the expression didn't match her body language. She was holding herself as rigid as a marble statue under his hand. "What happened?" he prompted again, a small frown forming on his face.

"It…well, I guess you could say it was one of those fluke things. Wrong place, wrong time. You know the drill. It's happened to me before." Trixie tried a laugh but it didn't come out right. It was a pathetic attempt. Because she was finding his touch so incredibly soothing, almost too calming, she turned out of it with only a modicum of regret. Bare feet led her over to the sliding glass doors. With arms crossed over her chest, she stared out over the terrace, using the small amount of time to re-gather her thoughts. When she was ready to continue, the curly-haired blonde slowly turned around to face him.

The sight that met him made the supple redhead draw in a sharp breath. The late afternoon sunlight was at her back. It danced over and across her, highlighting the blonde in her curls, the gold dusting of a tan across her bare shoulders, and shadowing the blue of her eyes. For some reason, it made her look…fragile, a word he wouldn't ever thought to use to describe one Beatrix Belden. And yet, perversely, there it was. Because he knew better than to push for more of the story, that she'd get to it when she was good and ready, he edged a hip onto the arm of a chair, clasped his hands together, and waited her out as patiently as James Winthrop Frayne II could.

She would have preferred a million and one questions fired at her with the unforgiving speed of a machine gun instead of the growing quiet. The silence felt more suffocating, less comfortable. Plus he wasn't touching her now. Her choice, she reminded herself grimly. Since he appeared to be more than content to let her answer in her own time, Trixie pressed her suddenly sweaty hands against her thighs; a telling move. She didn't have a clue how often she did it in his presence or that he'd picked up on it and what it meant.

She was nervous, of that he didn't have a single doubt. He simply wasn't certain why she should be. As far as he was concerned, an injury was an injury. He didn't want her to have one, of course. He didn't want her to have to experience physical pain at all but there was something deeper at work here. Desperate for anything to say, using his most soothing tone, he murmured quietly, "It's all right, Trixie. Whatever it was, it's in the past."

"I know." It wasn't the story behind her scar. At least, not so much. It was the connection to the special event in his life she missed due to her injuries. Would he recognize the timing? Maybe. Maybe not. Did she have the courage to tell him if he didn't? Again, maybe. Maybe not. She honestly didn't know, couldn't predict. Sucking in a deep breath, she haltingly explained, inwardly apologizing for many of the lies, half-truths and a few downright omissions, "It all began when my agency was…umm…contracted by a family member to complete a search and rescue mission in South America. It turned out there were a set of journalists down there who didn't come back after completing an assignment for their magazine. They were sent there to photograph and report on an important archeological discovery. Incan, I think, but it doesn't really matter. Anyway, they completed their assignment, emailed their draft to their editor, and were set to return to the States. But somewhere between their hotel and the airport, the journalists stumbled onto the possibility of a much bigger story. They thought somewhat foolishly, I guess, that they could handle it."

"Wait a minute." He held up a hand to stop her. "Your firm was contracted for a search and rescue mission?" he repeated, puzzled by the explanation so far, and hoped he wasn't going to offend her. "No offense here, and I truly mean that, Trix, but isn't something like this generally reserved for the big guns?"

She didn't take offense. After all, as far as he knew she worked for a small private investigative agency. Choosing her words carefully, not wanting to give anything away that she shouldn't, she explained slowly, "We have an excellent reputation for getting the job done. Any job. We take on a lot of unusual cases, Jim, especially when the people hiring our services want complete and total privacy." It was difficult but she kept her features serene during the full-out lie. The CDA was never hired; was never searched out by others to complete a mission. In fact, there were only a handful of people in the entire world who knew that the agency existed. They went to great pains to keep it that way. The agency always went to wherever the need was. In this case, Chief Ogilvie had decided that preventing an international incident had been of paramount importance and had immediately detached two teams of agents to the site. One for chaos and commotion; one for search and rescue. She'd been assigned to the search team.

She waited to see if he had any questions. When he didn't, she forged on with her explanation, "One of those missing journalists was the son of a wealthy businessman. Needless to say, his parents wanted him home, safe and sound, and were willing to do anything, to pay anything, to get him back. They preferred to have very little coverage of the event if at all possible, too. We excel at completing our work quietly." A low note of pride rang out.

The start of her story fascinated him. Jim dangled a leg over the side of the chair and filed away the information as she shared it with him, to be reviewed and analyzed at a later time. "Let's see if I have this straight. You were in South America, then, trying to bring home a few lost Americans who searched out a story they shouldn't have."

"Not lost. Abducted," she hastily corrected and prayed that she came up with the right explanation. It was difficult to hold back when she wasn't at liberty to tell the whole story. "Here's more of the background information. The story they attempted to break open involved a very powerful man in the region. He was into just about everything; smuggling, drugs, arms, even prostitution. Not a good guy."

"Doesn't sound like it." He didn't take any amount of focus off of her.

She tapped an agitated finger against her thigh. "After the journalists checked out of their hotel, they were approached by one of the trackers who'd led them to the site of the archeological dig. He promised to give them some information in exchange for money. Apparently, they began to salivate at the thought of working the story. It never sank in that they were attempting to take on the strongest, most powerful, and an extremely dangerous man in the region. Foolishly, they set up a time to meet him later on."

He was following her so far. She was doing an excellent job at setting up the situation. "I take it the meeting didn't go well," Jim inferred correctly, his body taut while he wondered what had happened to her.

"Not at all." She smiled weakly at him. "Instead of getting on their plane for the flight home, they ended up keeping their assigned meeting. They showed up, right at the prearranged time. Their informant showed up, too. Only he wasn't alive any longer. That's when they realized their mistake but it was too late." Trixie released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. She'd felt a small kinship with the journalists and how the desire to find the story had taken away their good sense. How many times had it happened to her when she was a fledgling amateur detective? Often enough. She sent a slanted glance at Jim. He'd been the one who usually led the charge to save her, right in the nick of time. She'd been unbelievably lucky, time after time.

"What happened next?" Jim didn't realize that his hands were now fisted, that his blood had chilled or that the color was rapidly disappearing from his face.

"Obviously, the despot could easily have had the three Americans killed, but, since they were from our country, he made the decision to bring them back to his stronghold. For further evaluation." At least, that's what the intel had informed them during their quick flight to the country, which she intentionally didn't reveal in case Jim should try to do some internet googling later on. The less he knew, the better.

Fear flashed in his eyes before he resolutely blinked it away. While it was asinine to feel fear now, years after the fact, he couldn't help but be assaulted by such a strong emotion. Part of him almost wished she'd stop the story right here, right now, right before he found out what happened next. But he couldn't ask her stop. The need to know was greater than the fear. He remained quiet, merely nodded his head to urge her to continue.

"It was clear from the beginning that we didn't have much time. They hadn't released any information to the public or to the families yet. We needed to get in before they did." She stopped for a moment, unaware that she'd made a tiny yet glaring mistake in her explanation. Jim didn't catch it...yet. "During the flight, we were given all the necessary information and came up with the best scenario. In this case, we decided that speed was much more important than stealth. The decision was made to get in to the compound as quickly as we could. We needed to get in, like, five minutes ago."

She stopped again. Her face took on a far-away look as she recalled the events of their attack. "One team was ordered to cause as much of a distraction as possible. Like I said before, that wasn't my assignment. I was part of the search team. I entered the stronghold with Max, Jocelyn, and a few others after our team that specializes in creating chaotic commotions went to work. We split up, went to our designated areas, and searched the place from north to south, east to west." Took out anyone necessary in the process but she failed to mention that part. "I was partnered with Shane. We were the lucky ones. We found them first. We were instructed to bring them out as fast as possible but one of them, the female, was understandably hysterical by this point. She was huddled in the corner of the room and wouldn't budge. The only way we could get her to move was to give her my protective vest."

A long breath whooshed out of him. "I see," he mumbled quietly while she answered a question that had been beginning to form in his mind.

"Shane led the way out, with the three journalists in-between us. When a few other…investigators," she hastily supplied, almost using the word agents in its place, "joined us, I stayed in the back. Needless to say, it was a pretty tense time." She tried for a little laugh but didn't quite make it and became momentarily lost in the memories. They'd had three precious minutes to get to the rendezvous. Not a lot of time.

Jim was staring directly at her. Emotions were seizing him in a strong grip. Astonishment. Shock. Awe. And, strongest of all, pride. She wasn't looking at him anymore, was staring off into the distance as she let him in. He knew better than to interrupt. He needed to let her set the pace, to keep going on her own, but he wasn't sitting casually on the arm of the chair anymore. He was standing straight, as rigid as she had been earlier. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. Green eyes were narrowed on her.

It seemed as if she was giving a lecture instead of sharing what could have passed as an episode in the latest spy drama on television. "We were on the right path, exactly where we needed to go to get to the helicopters. There were two. But the bad guys weren't exactly making it easy for us."

"I can imagine," he remarked hoarsely.

She didn't hear him. "One of them came at me straight from out of the dark, gave my side a glancing blow with a sharp knife before I noticed him. The funny thing is, I didn't feel the full force of the pain at that moment. It didn't set in until later. I guess that's adrenaline for you. We got to the helicopters, made it out of there." She ran a hand over the spot, exhaled sharply, and forced a smile on her face. Trying to end it now, she declared with as much cheer as she could muster, "Well, that's it. That's the story, Jim. That's how I got my scar. Wrong place, wrong time."

He studied her for an indecipherable amount of time, came to the only conclusion possible, and slowly shook his head. He wasn't going to let her get away with it. "No, it's not. There's more. I know it. I can see it written all over your face, Trixie."

Gleeps, was she an open book to him now? Trixie desperately hoped not. She nervously tucked back her untamed curls with both hands. "I can't go into an exact play-by-play because, quite honestly, I don't remember it all. I was able to fend off my attacker but, by the time I'd won, there were at least two more coming at me. Maybe more. I don't know. As you can imagine, they were pretty angry with us. One of them hit me in the face with something. I think it was a lead pipe. It sure felt like one. Anyway, he managed to break my nose." She rubbed the area that had been surgically repaired so that no sign of the fracture showed.

His eyes widened. "Trixie?" he asked, disbelief in his tone.

She didn't hear him. Couldn't hear him. Finally, she was completely lost in the story. "After the journalists and our first team made it back to their copter, it took off. Max wouldn't let the second one leave, not without me. He circled back looking for me with Jocelyn and Shane. Obviously, they found me. We beat the bad guys, got back to our copter, and left." The stronghold burned to the ground and the leader, plus a few other higher-ups in his hierarchy, were dead. She forgot to mention the tiny little fact that the Chief had decided to combine two missions with one: save the journalists and take out the evil man and as many of his followers as possible, all at the same time. A success. They'd managed to do both.

It still sounded like an awfully abbreviated version to him. "You're leaving a few things out," he stated quietly.

She lifted her eyes to his. "Maybe," she admitted, lifting her shoulders. She wasn't telling him all, not of the dreadful fight, the way the dark of the night had exploded into vivid reds and oranges, of the cacophonous sounds of bombs exploding, guns discharging, people screaming, and chaos reigning supreme. There was also the pesky little fact that she'd been extremely close to losing her life and most likely would have, if her friends hadn't come back for her. "When all was said and done, I had two huge black eyes, a broken nose, a concussion, and nine stitches on my stomach. Not one of my best missions," she admitted with a small wry chuckle. "But it was termed successful. After all, we brought the journalists home, safe and sound."

It sounded more like something out of an action movie, not what he'd imagined a private investigator would do. He didn't give it too much thought, not right now, not when she'd finished describing her injuries and his heart was pounding away like a jackhammer. His feet moved of their own accord. Before he realized his intentions, he closed the distance between them and was standing directly in front of her.

"Now that truly is the story of my scar," she declared-a trifle too gaily. Because she wanted to take a step back from him, she forced herself to stand tall, right where she was. She wasn't going to give away her ground. "Nothing too bad, not really, not when you really think about it. It could have been much worse."

Jim unconsciously copied a move of hers. He put his hands against his thighs. Many questions circulated through, were dying to be asked. The one he least expected to voice came out, proving that it was more important than he'd originally thought. "Does anyone else know about it?"

Spiraling curls danced with the negative shake of her head. "Oh, no. I shouldn't discuss my cases with anyone. You know that. Confidentiality." Which she'd just broken with him. The irony made her squeeze her eyes shut.

"Yeah. I understand." It wasn't too difficult to figure out she was holding something back from him. However, he realized she had told him as much as she was going to, definitely more than her boss would have wanted her to, and he reluctantly decided not to cross-examine her any longer. There was only one more thing he wanted to know, however. He wasn't going to fold without asking. "When…Trixie…when did this happen to you?"

There was no way she wanted to reveal the timing. An almost tangible desperation swamped over her. Her eyes hastily slid to the floor. "It's not important. It happened a few years ago." She relied on the selfsame shrug again.

She was so very clearly wrong. It was important. He saw straight through it with the simple ease he'd always been able to employ whenever she'd been trying to hide something during the many adventures they had shared as teenagers. He closed the miniscule amount of distance remaining between them. Putting a finger under her chin, he lifted her head up and looked into her eyes. He couldn't mistake the unease, the anxiety, and the desire to avoid the question. Oh hell, yes, there was definitely something else she was holding back. It was as obvious as the faded freckles smattering her once-broken nose. Whatever it was, it was important. "Trix," he insisted softly but no less forcefully. "You've got to tell me and then I'll try to let it go. When did it happen?"

Since she couldn't drop her head, not with his finger holding her chin up, she closed her eyes instead. Anything to stop herself from looking into his penetrating emerald gaze, to witness his reaction when he found out why she'd missed his graduation. "You could figure it out, Jim," she mumbled lowly. "You should remember the timing."

"Why do you say that?" He wished she'd open her eyes again. He wanted to look into the beautiful sapphire blue, to offer comfort even when he was the one causing her anxiety.

As if she'd read his mind, her eyes fluttered open but she didn't look at him. It was much better for her equilibrium to stare at a painting on the wall instead. A rather nice painting, she noted dispassionately, of the ocean right before sunrise. Peaceful and calm, with the hint of the sun preparing itself to break through the clouds. Since she loved the ocean, she focused on it, found the strength within, and forced the answer out. "It happened right before your graduation from Harvard."

His hand fell to the side. Surprised, he staggered back a step. "What?"

Trixie heard the shock in his voice. It didn't surprise her. She'd been expecting it. However, she'd never known how much her absence from the graduation had hurt him, bothered him or nagged at him. And that it still did, whenever he opened his mind up to it. She went on to hurriedly explain, "It wasn't the cut that kept me away. The stitches were well hidden. No one would have seen it. It was my doctor. He wouldn't let me fly, not with my concussion or my broken nose." She jabbed a finger in the direction of her nose. "Plus I didn't look all that good, either."

"God, Trix," blew out of him while he slowly digested the information. He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Just…God."

An inarticulate Jim was something she wasn't used to. Since it bothered her, she finally allowed herself to look at him fully. "Even if I'd been given the medical clearance to travel, I wouldn't have come," she admitted quietly. "No one would have paid much attention to you, Jim. They wouldn't have been able to stop staring at me. I really looked quite dreadful." She drew in a deep breath before saying, "I didn't want to spoil the event for you."

"You wouldn't have spoiled it." It was difficult but he closed off his mind to the pain she'd gone through. Because she was being open and honest with him, he returned the favor without a qualm. "I wanted you there. I hated it when Honey told me that you weren't going to be able to come. It didn't feel right to me. It wasn't complete…not without you there."

Tears sparkled briefly before she blinked them away. The honesty came through, loud and clear. "Jim," she whispered, unable to come up with anything better to say. Before she knew her intentions, she reached out, touched his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Jim couldn't help it. Yet another question was settled; yet another piece of the puzzle was put in place for him. Strong arms grabbed her, pulled her into a tight embrace, almost as if he was trying to take away the memories and the pain she'd experienced, as well as offer comfort, belated though it may be. He succeeded. The security it gave thrilled her. When a kiss brushed her forehead, light, sweet, and hardly passionate, a starburst of emotions flared brightly within her, every bit as strong as the ones that had assaulted her earlier. Maybe even stronger. Passion was one thing but tenderness…it was her undoing. Trixie held herself still for one more second and then, finally, gave in. Carefully, gently, she laid her head against his chest. Gratefully, she closed her eyes and listened to the soothing music of his heart underneath her ear while she held on.

Like the light sneaking through the tiniest crack of a door, another part of her life was opened up to him. He knew. In fact, he was the only one who knew. "I've always been so sorry that I missed out on your graduation," she said, her voice muffled since she was speaking into his chest. "I didn't know how to explain it to you or to anyone else; not then. So I simply hid behind work as an excuse. It was much easier than the truth."

"No problem." He gently caressed a curl; didn't even attempt to brush it back, and ran a pair of soothing hands up and down her back. After a minute where the only sound was that of their combined breathing, he inquired, "Broken nose, huh? I'd never have guessed it. Your nose looks exactly the same as always."

She lifted it in the air, tapped it gently. "Can't even tell now although it hurt like hell at the time. My doctor did an excellent job putting it back together."

He ran a finger along the bridge of her nose. She was right. Her doctor had done an excellent job. He couldn't feel any lumps or bumps. Still, he didn't want to picture it in his mind. While she'd been in more harrowing situations than he'd cared to count during their adolescent years, she'd never been seriously hurt, bruised, or scarred. He wouldn't have handled it well if he'd seen the proof of such injuries stamped so vividly on her. None of their combined friends or family would have, either. "If you'd been able to come to my graduation, you would have caused quite a sensation," he admitted truthfully.

"Tell me about it." The edges of her lips curved slightly in a sign of humor, directed entirely at herself. "I doubt if my family would have let me return to California afterwards. They probably would have locked me in my old bedroom back at the house and thrown away the key. They are a rather protective group, you know," she joked with a little laugh.

He didn't join in her laughter, only gave her that singularly intense look that seemed to pierce a hole straight through to her soul and made the last tones of her laugh catch rather painfully in her throat. "They wouldn't have been the only ones," he mumbled, ever-so-quietly.

The desire to laugh was long gone. She went quiet and felt a pressure that could only be created by him start to build within her. Her heart started fluttering. "Jim?"

One finger rubbed the edge of her cheek with his thumb. The other hand splayed out along her hip. He didn't speak but started to pull her even closer to him. A series of light taps on the connecting door brought them both back to harsh reality.

It happened again. Another time when she completely forgot about her job and the entire reason why she was in Vegas to begin with. It seemed that spending too much time with Jim was scrambling her brains, blurring her priorities and making her lose her much-needed edge. Biting back a disappointed sigh, she hastily pulled herself out of his arms, crossed her arms over her chest, and faced the door, pasting what she hoped was an inscrutable expression on her face. She didn't need to give Max any more ammunition to use against her. Unfortunately for her, he had plenty enough as it was.

"Max." A growl of a grumble, the name blew past his lips in the exact same tone one would use when uttering a curse. Something had been about to happen. He wasn't sure what, could only imagine, but the promise had been there, shining as brightly as the afternoon sun over the coarse brown sand of the desert outside. Now, the moment was ruined. It was enough to drive him insane.

"Yeah." She couldn't look at Jim. Not now. Instead, Trixie watched the door. There wasn't any need for her to open it for him; he was more than adept at finding his way through any type of a lock. When his grinning face appeared, she forced her lips to tilt and greeted him with as much cheer as she could muster. "Hey, Max."

His warm greeting died before it could cross his lips. Excellent at reading the moods in any kind of a room, it quickly occurred to him that his presence was most definitely not wanted. Since there wasn't anything he could do about it now, he nodded at Jim, grabbed her elbow, and brought her across the room. "I'm going to borrow her for a while, Frayne. We'll see you shortly," he called back over his shoulder. One quick tug and he had her through the door, which closed promptly behind him.

Stunned by the suddenness of her exit, all Jim could do was stare, openmouthed, at the closed door. Just like that, she was gone. And he was left with absolutely nothing to do. Nothing, that is, except to recall the story behind her scar, the reason why she hadn't been able to make it to his graduation. It seemed like each word of it was seared onto his brain, never to be forgotten. Needing some form of a distraction, he idly picked up his cell from its charger on the entertainment stand. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing. A hasty search through the internet showed no email, either. He placed the cell on the table, briefly considered the television before shaking his head. It wouldn't matter what was on. At the moment he didn't have the ability to focus on anything. Left to his own devices, he ended up pacing down the hall. When nothing looked remotely appealing in the kitchen, either to drink or to eat, he slammed a cabinet shut and changed directions. One quick glance into the exercise room brought him to a stop. Hell, it had been good enough for her a few days ago when she'd been as frustrated as he felt right now. It would work for him, too. He hurried to the bedroom to change into his exercise clothes and missed the incoming chirp of a fresh text message.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fourteen

After closing the connecting door, Trixie rested her forehead against it. "At least that's over," she grumbled to herself, covering her cheeks with her hands. They felt hot from the recent interview with Max, where she had the pleasure of explaining everything that occurred in the penthouse. Well, almost everything. At least he'd let her skip over her encounter with Jim in the pool. At the time, she'd felt pretty good about it, erroneously thinking Max didn't know exactly what went on. But he had. He'd winked at her; then told her that the new instigation directive was being taken off the table. When she'd stared at him in complete and utter mortification, he had cheerfully added that he didn't think either Trixie or Jim could handle another instigation attempt by her. In the next breath, he stated that he felt relatively confident Mr. Young would be offering them a deal, most likely during their meeting tomorrow. She was in complete agreement with him.

Grateful that Max had gone extremely easy on her, which surprised her since he could be as irritating as her brother Mart when he wanted to be, Trixie blew out a relieved breath and looked around the living room for any sign of Jim. A small line settled on her forehead. He wasn't there. How stupid to think he'd be right where she left him. She shook her head, stepped out into the hallway, listened intently in both directions, and heard a sound she correctly identified as the whirl of an elliptical machine in use. She nodded her head decisively. The exercise room. A good place to relieve tension. She should know. She had employed it a few days ago to do just that.

Trixie cocked her head to the side, considered the amount of time they'd already spent together in Las Vegas, and ticked off each day. Wednesday; their arrival day. Thursday; the day they spent enjoying Las Vegas, courtesy of Mr. Young. Friday. Today. Was it only their third day together in Las Vegas? She found it hard to believe. So much had happened since Jim accidentally launched himself into her mission. Looking back, it wasn't too hard to admit that professionally making Jim her partner hadn't been the best course of action. Personally was a different matter. She started playing with the edge of her cover-up. For one long, blissful moment she allowed herself to bask in the wonders of their time together in the pool. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander, let herself remember, and, with a death knell to her equilibrium, allowed herself to _wish_.

This time the flush on her face had absolutely nothing to do with acute embarrassment. "Cut it out, Belden," she ordered herself harshly. "Not going to happen." Trixie popped open her eyes and shook off the power of the memory. Curls flew around her face as she pivoted on her heels and headed off in the opposite direction. She was hungry, she told herself. _Hungry_. That's all.

A blatant lie. She was willing to try just about anything to get her mind off Jim and the way he could make her feel. A quick search through the refrigerator revealed nothing appealing. She grabbed a cold soda and popped the top as she nudged the door closed with her hip. The carbonated drink cooled her dry throat, at least. A rifle through the well-stocked cabinets also proved to be fruitless. Remembering how Jim had ordered room service during her run, she decided to return the favor and searched through the menus before finally settling upon a restaurant.

The call was completed in no time. Humming in an off-key tone under her breath, Trixie carried her soda and walked down the hall, thinking it would be a great idea to get a shower in before the meal arrived. Or maybe a long, hot soak in that luxurious, overly large tub. She stopped, nearly sighing in anticipation. Much, much better. It would help relieve some of her stress, maybe even better than a run on the treadmill. The bright chime of a cell stopped her in her tracks. Without thinking, she headed its way and answered it. "Hello?"

A surprised "Trixie?" came back at her.

"Hey, Mart." Lifting her shoulders, she didn't read anything into why her brother sounded surprised. He was Mart, after all, the champion of annoying almost-twins everywhere. Instead, she plopped down on the sectional, cuddled into the corner and spread her legs out, taking up as much room as possible. It felt unbelievably good to be off her feet. She took a long leisurely sip of her soda. "It's good to hear from you. It's been too long since we've been able to talk. What's up?"

"Nothing much." In Sleepyside, Mart pulled the phone away, gave it a baffled look, and then slowly brought it back to the side of his head. He scratched his head with his free hand, a frown marring his handsome face. Obviously, the stress of preparing for the new arrival was getting to him. He only hoped it didn't transfer over into his work. "So…ah…" he began, wondering what he should say next since he was talking to someone he hadn't meant to call, "How are things with you?"

Twining a long curl around a finger, Trixie swallowed her first and most accurate response to his question. She doubted if he'd find it amusing if she shared with him that she was in Las Vegas, with Jim Frayne acting as her willing partner during a charade for her secret agency. However, she was finally starting to see the humor in it. Sometimes, finding humor was the only way she could get through some of the unusually unique situations she found herself in. Her current situation definitely rated as one of the oddest and most unusual of all. "Believe it or not, everything's fine with me," she finally settled on. Her eyes popped open with the crystal clarity of the simple statement. She meant it. Searching for something else to say, she asked, "What's new with you and Di?"

Mart sank down onto the comfortable oak glider and glanced at the walls painted in a lovely shade of violet. Matching white and purple curtains adorned the windows. A burst of pride swelled within him. It had to be the most beautiful room he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. Peaceful and serene; a little girl's haven. There were only a few short months to pass through before a little darling would be sleeping in the gorgeous crib he'd recently finished assembling. He eyed the object; tried not to recall how hard it had been to put together. The effort had been worth it, although he'd inwardly cursed the crib more than a few times during the difficult assembly period. "I took a personal day today, Trix. Di and I used the extra time to finish a few necessities in the nursery. It's finally ready." He couldn't contain his excitement any longer.

"That's great!" she enthused, delighted for her brother. She could imagine the mile-wide grin on his face. An answering one tugged at her own. Thrilled, she leaned forward while a torrent of questions was released. "You've got to take a picture of it and send it to me. I'd love to see what it looks like. Until then, you'll have to tell me about it. What does the room look like? Do you have everything you need? What's the theme for my favorite unborn niece? Di was having some trouble coming up with the correct theme the last time I talked to her. Fairies, flowers or princesses? Which one won?" Only the need for air made her pause in her questioning. She sucked it in quickly, and was in the process of starting another round of rapid fire questioning when Mart stopped her.

"Hold it, squaw. Hold it. Slow down, there." Mart laughed, holding up his hand in the air.

Trixie threw back her head, chuckling at her own foolishness. Even though they lived on the opposite sides of the country, the connection was remade the moment they started conversing again. Every single time. There was something very comforting in that. "I know. I know," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "I'll take it slower."

"I'll start with your question about the theme." He looked at the wall. Fairies, flowers, and smiling princesses were sketched and painted along it. His wife did marvelous work. He traced a finger along the edge of a delicate bloom of a purple rose. "Di couldn't decide on just one so she didn't. She liked all the choices so much that she decided to include each of them in the nursery."

"I bet it's beautiful." Breathtakingly so. Trixie sighed in wistful appreciation. She'd give just about anything to see it right now. Even though she didn't really need to ask the next question, she did anyway. "Did Di stick with purple as the color scheme?"

"Come on, Beatrix. This is Diana Lynch Belden we're talking about," Mart answered sarcastically with a roll of his blue eyes. "Of course we used differing shades of purple for the nursery."

In the spirit of the moment, Trixie let the use of her first name go unnoticed, as well as the sarcastic tint to his voice. "Do you have everything ready?"

"As of ten minutes ago, yes. It took most of the afternoon but I finally finished putting together the crib. The second it was finished, Di pounced and put fresh sheets on it. She didn't want the mattress to get cold." Mart chuckled at his wife, who was as excited about the new room as a young child hearing the musical bells of the ice cream truck on a hot summer day.

Trixie downed the last of her soda. "It sounds marvelous, Mart."

"It's better than marvelous, Trix. Believe it or not, I don't have the words to tell you how great it is." Since he'd obviously made a mistake and wasn't talking with the person he'd expected to be talking to, he decided it was a good time to discuss with his sister the exact same thing he was going to bring up with his intended recipient. She needed to hear it too. "I'm glad I caught you at a good time, Trix. There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

She flexed her feet, wiggled her toes, and seemed to sink within the gentle leather of the sectional. It was more comfortable than she'd expected it to be. "What's that, Mart?"

He cocked his head to the side and listened attentively to the floorboards outside the room. Hearing no sounds of approaching feet, secure in the knowledge that Di must still be downstairs, he whispered softly, "It's about the baby shower."

He was speaking too quietly. She couldn't hear a word he said. Trixie leaned forward, almost as if the action would prompt him to speak louder. "What, Mart? You're going to have to speak up. I can't hear you."

He craned his neck. Still no sound. Risking it, he spoke louder. "The baby shower, Trix. I need to talk to you about the baby shower."

Her blue eyes flared open. "Oh!"

"Yes. Oh!" Mart repeated, still keeping a sharp eye and an even sharper ear out for the mother-to-be. He didn't want to spoil the surprise. He'd have two very unhappy grandmothers-to-be on his hands if he did mess it up. Speaking as quietly as he could, he whispered as loudly as he dared to, "The date has finally been set. It's the first Saturday in August. Moms is working on the invitations right now. She'll be mailing them out soon. You'll get yours within the next week or so."

"Okay." Although she'd already committed the date to memory, she pushed herself off the sectional and found her pink cell phone where it sat next to her bag. Quickly she called up her calendar and typed in the date. "I've got it recorded."

Mart toyed with the frilly edge of the sheet peeking out from the crib. Carefully, he declared, not wanting to hurt her and hoping for a positive answer, "We want you there, Trixie. We want you there a lot. Do you think you'll be able to make it?"

She bought a few precious seconds by concentrating on closing out the calendar option on her cell. Slowly it dawned on her that she was holding one phone while talking into another one. And then she finally realized what she'd done. She'd answered Jim's cell…which meant that Mart hadn't meant to call her; he'd been calling Jim! The blasted red color returned to her face with a vengeance while her eyes grew to twice their normal size. "I marked the date on my calendar," she explained, inwardly castigating herself for making such a mistake. Yet another sign that she wasn't as on her game as she should be. If luck was with her, Mart wouldn't figure it out. She could only hope. "I can't guarantee it, though. I promise I'll try my very best to get there."

He hated it that she couldn't guarantee trips home. But he couldn't give into the bitterness her answer made him feel, not without making both of them feel bad. Because she couldn't see his face, he frowned and absently picked up a big purple stuffed elephant Di insisted their little darling needed. Staring down into its silly grinning face made him feel better. "See that you do. I'm missing my hat, Trix," he declared gruffly, attempting a joke.

Reading between the lines, she realized what he was really saying. He missed her. They usually kept their true feelings from each other. It seemed the appropriate way for almost-twins to act. "That ratty old thing?" she remarked with just the right amount of sisterly sneer.

"Hey, my Yankees hat is a classic." Starting to get into the spirit, he leaned back and rested his feet on the matching ottoman. The elephant looked incongruous as it sat in his lap. He waved a hand through the air. "I tell you right now. That hat will definitely be worth something someday. I guarantee it."

"Only to you," she shot back. _And to me._ She didn't say it, knowing that they avoided swimming in sentimentality around each other as much as possible. But she loved that beat-up old hat. There was only one thing that could make her give it back to him. "Besides, I don't travel without it. You know that. You aren't getting it back."

"I will. You're not keeping it forever." Once it occurred to him that he was holding the silly elephant, he carefully placed it back on the floor, where it stood sentinel besides the crib. "If I don't wrestle it from you the next time you're home, then I'll get it back when you finally decide to leave California behind and move back home for good." Once it hit him what he said, he went completely still and shut his eyes. He could imagine the look on her face right now. It wouldn't be a happy one. The silence grew on the other end of the line before he cautiously broke it. "Ah, Trixie?"

"I'm here." She worried her bottom lip, not quite sure how to respond to Mart. She never knew what to say when someone threw out the veiled or unveiled hints that it would be better if she would just move back to Sleepyside. In fact, in the years she'd been away, there'd only been one person who never tried to persuade her in some way, shape or form. She stared in the direction of the bedroom where she heard a door closing. Someone was done exercising; was most likely getting ready to take a shower. _He_ was the only one who'd never suggested that she should move back home. A powerful thought. It made her strangely restless and tense all of a sudden. She tossed her legs over the edge of the sectional and leaned forward, her long curls brushing against the sides of her face. Searching for anything to break the silence, she mumbled out, "Umm, so, ah, have you thought of any names yet?"

Mart had to smile, albeit a small one. She was ever the resilient one, his sister. Allowing her to change the subject without any further prodding, he answered with more enthusiasm than was necessary, "We've got one. It's a good one, too." He winked.

She could visualize the wink and chuckled. "I'm sure it is. Knowing you, you probably picked one that's eight syllables long and practically impossible to pronounce or either means flower, fairy or princess in some ancient dialect that no one can remember any longer." It felt good to tease her brother. Trixie sat back and waited for his response.

Since the miles between them wouldn't let her see his smile widen at her typical sibling response, he let it grow until it practically took up his entire face. God, he missed having her around. "Just for that, I'm not going to tell you," he remarked, adding an annoyed sniff for measure.

"I suppose I'll have to wait until the birth of my little niece, then." She shook her head and crossed her fingers. Nothing was going to keep her from attending the birth. She'd already made that perfectly clear to Chief Ogilvie. A good part of October was already marked off for some significant leave time for her. If everything went according to plan. Unfortunately, there never was a guarantee with her job.

"Everyone else will have to wait, too. Di wants to keep our girl's name a secret. We're not telling anyone." It was proving to be a difficult secret to keep. He was practically dying to share it with someone and briefly considered doing it right now, with Trixie, before squashing the idea. His wife would not be pleased if she found out. "People are already starting to try and bribe us, though. I hope I'm stronger than Moms' homemade apple pie or the Lynch's cook's tiramisu." All wonderful delicacies…and all given with the hope that he would spill. It seemed each side had come to the same conclusion. They were all hoping that they could discover the name earlier by going the circuitous route through Mart's stomach. He patted his belly. He wasn't turning down any of the delicious offerings although he still wasn't talking.

"I know it'll be the perfect name for your daughter." Trixie sighed a little. "I'm still finding it hard to comprehend that my almost-twin is going to be a daddy." She did a quick mental calculation and added in a disbelieving tone, "In four months!"

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe, too." All the tangibles made it more real to him, especially the times when the newest Belden would assert herself and kick and roll. He loved feeling the movements occurring within Di's belly. "Anyway, we've gotten slightly off track here."

"We have?" Trixie questioned with a tilt of her head.

"Yeah. I wanted to tell you more about the…" Here he pitched his voice lower again and declared in a theatrical voice, "baby shower."

He was making her giggle again. "All right. Hit me. What else do I need to know about the…" And she copied him, speaking the next two words just as dramatically, "baby shower?"

"Smart a…aleck." Mart swiftly substituted the more g-rated term instead, not wanting to swear in the innocent room. After a new burst of laughter died down on the other end, he went on to explain, "For some unknown reason, Di's mother and our mother had this incredibly interesting idea to hold what they call an 'enlightened' baby shower. You know, the kind where the males and the females hang out together. For the entire duration." He'd been planning on dropping Di off and then returning to pick her and all the goodies up a few hours later. He'd never expected that he'd have to stay for it. Mart nearly groaned before admitting, "In other words, all the men in our respective families are expected to attend, too."

Trixie felt a grin tug at her lips. He sounded pained. She couldn't have been more delighted. "Oh, Mart! Don't worry. It'll be all right," she assured him, her attempt to pacify completely made null with her voice quivering with barely suppressed laughter.

Mart pulled back the phone and glared at it. "Moms has made it very clear that all Belden men must be present and accounted for. She's not going to take no for an answer from any of us. That means Dad, Brian and Bobby have to come, too. Di's father, Larry and Terry are under the same directive to attend from Di's mom. It turns out that Mrs. Wheeler thought the idea was a fantastic one, too. She's already promised Moms that Mr. Wheeler and Jim will put in an appearance. Regan couldn't tell Moms no when she hit him with the suggestion yesterday, even though he wanted to. I haven't had a chance to talk to Dan yet but I know he's going to be toast. He can never tell any of the females in our midst no."

"Oh! Oh! My…well, it'll be a wonderful party." Again, she couldn't help but laugh. Trixie tried not to think about it. All those delightful little baby things…and the men in her life standing around, watching the proceedings. Dear Lord, what were her mother and Mrs. Lynch thinking? The men were going to hate it. And it promised to be much more entertaining than she ever thought it would be. She glanced down at her phone again and crossed her fingers. She wanted to make it to that shower.

"Yeah. Wonderful." Mart's tone showed how much wonderful he thought the shower was going to be, especially when it seriously messed up his plans for the day. "I was planning on hanging out with the guys, doing some kind of manly stuff like taking the horses out for a ride, going fishing, or swimming in the lake. Or maybe all three. I was seriously hoping to avoid all the female stuff that was going on."

Hearing the slight despair in his voice made her hopes triple. She really didn't want to miss this baby shower. It promised to be one to remember. Chuckling yet again, Trixie declared, "I know it's got you worried if you, the ever wordy one, are using simple words and phrases like 'hanging out' and 'stuff' instead of your normal million dollar words."

"Ah, shut up," he shot back. "I'm not nearly as bad about that as I used to be." Suddenly the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs echoed through the stairway. He pitched his voice low. "Hey, Trix, I've got to go. Di's on her way up. I'll bet she wants to check on the room again. I really don't want to give away the surprise. It's been good talking to you. Don't forget. The first weekend in August." He ended the call abruptly.

After listening to dead air, Trixie stared down at the device guiltily. She unconsciously crossed her fingers. If she was lucky, maybe Mart wouldn't figure out the wrong person answered the right phone. Shoulders lifted in resignation. There really wasn't much she could do it about it now. If he did figure it out, she knew that she, and Jim, would be inundated with phone calls from every single Bob-White residing in New York, demanding to know what they were doing together in Las Vegas. She scrubbed her face with her hand. Wouldn't that be marvelous?

Shaking away her thoughts, she carefully put Jim's phone down next to hers. Black and pink. No wonder she'd answered his phone. It looked exactly like her old cell, not the pink monstrosity she'd been saddled with for the mission. A shadow fell over her, interrupting her preoccupation with the phones. Without looking up, knowing exactly who it was, she pointed at his phone and glanced up at him. "I just got off the phone with Mart. He called for you."

Water droplets still clung to his hair, proving that he'd recently finished a quick and hasty shower. Jim sat down across from her. Dressed casually in khaki shorts and a dark green cotton shirt, he made her miss a breath. "Really? What did he want?"

"I think he wanted to tell you about the baby shower," Trixie answered, willing her heart to slow down a little. No wonder she was making mistakes. "I'm sure he'll get in touch with you soon."

He understood her well enough to know that there was another problem. After studying the way she wouldn't look directly at him, he crossed his arms over his chest and arched a single eyebrow. "All right, Trix. What's the problem now?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out." She waved his phone through the air. "Mart called. For you. On your phone. And I answered it."

It sank in. Slowly. When it did, Jim's face looked as peculiar as hers. "l…ah…see."

"Exactly." Nothing else was necessary. He understood. Frustrated, she brushed back a curl and handed him his phone. "Sorry I answered it. I didn't even think. When I heard it ringing, I just picked it up."

"I don't care." He accepted the cell, placed it on the table next to him, and eyed her closely. "Did Mart figure out that something was wrong with his call?"

"I don't think so." Trixie shook her head. "He didn't ask for you so I think he's probably thinking that he called up the wrong number when he called. Unless he checks his call log, I think we're okay." Unfortunately, that was one too many _I thinks_ for her comfort level.

"We'll know he did if our cells start ringing off the hook." Jim tried not to frown. He didn't want to think what would happen if the others found out that he and Trixie were sharing a suite together, in Las Vegas. It wasn't possible to successfully predict how all of the others would react. Honey and Di were the easy ones. They'd be ecstatic. Dan was relatively easy, too. He would find it hilarious…and he'd never let them live it down. Her brothers were the wild cards. He wouldn't bet on any of their reactions. And if her father ever found out….Jim didn't want to finish that thought. He still remembered what it felt like to talk to Peter Belden when he held an ax in his hand. Definitely not something he wanted to experience again anytime soon.

"You'll need to clear the first weekend in August," Trixie said, more to break the silence than anything else.

Jim shook away the long-ago memory. For some reason, it didn't seem as painful as it used to be. He focused entirely on her. Curious, he inquired, "Why's that?"

"It's the weekend of the baby shower." A wicked gleam entered her eyes, telling him better than words that he wasn't going to like what she had to say. "My mom and Mrs. Lynch have decided to invite everyone to the baby shower. And I do mean _everyone_. In other words, every important male to both of our families will have to be there. Mart called it an 'enlightened' baby shower." She looked at him in sham sympathy while her eyes danced with devilish delight. "Not only that but your mother has apparently already promised them that you will go to it."

A baby shower. He had to attend a baby shower. Not that he had anything against them to begin with but he'd always hoped to avoid one if at all possible. There was just something about a roomful of women oohing and ahhing over a bunch of doll-sized clothes that made him want to stay as far, far away as he could possibly get. He imagined the rest of the men felt the same way, too. "August," he replied faintly.

"Yeah. August. First weekend," she replied helpfully, lips twitching. She reached over, covered his hand with one of hers to offer sham comfort. "Mart either wanted to prepare you or to give you enough warning to plan something really good to get you out of the state. You know, something that all of our mothers would find acceptable."

Other than needing major surgery, there wouldn't be a good enough reason for him to miss the shower, especially since his mother had already promised that he'd be there. He was sunk. So much for Dan not being able to tell the women in their lives no. He couldn't even outmaneuver his own mother when it came to avoiding the vacation he was currently enjoying. Enjoying it he was, he admitted and glanced at the buoyant blonde sitting across from him, who was trying desperately hard not to grin and was failing miserably. And her hand was still on his. "A baby shower?" he repeated weakly.

She nodded, doing her best not to laugh. He looked endearing in his bafflement. "Just think of all the games you'll be able to play. Let's see. There's Baby Bingo, Let's Estimate How Wide Di's Belly is, and Guess What This is Used For? Oh, and we can't forgot Who Can Collect the Most Clothespins?"

"What kind of a game is that?" He didn't want to know. Really, he didn't but he simply had to ask.

"It's fun," she hastened to assure him, taking pleasure in the glazed expression on his face. It wasn't often she saw him dazed and discombobulated. "Everyone is given a clothespin at the start of the shower. Each time someone says the word baby, the first person who hears it gets to grab their clothespin. You see who has the most clothespins at the end of the shower." From the look of abject horror spreading across his face, she accurately predicted that every single male would give up their clothespin within the first two minutes just so they wouldn't have to participate in that game, should it be part of the plan.

"Sounds like…fun," he mumbled in an oddly strangled voice. Oh, God. A baby shower…with a gaggle of giggling women. All for a good cause, he reminded himself, knowing he'd have to say that over and over again as the date approached. It wasn't every day they got together to celebrate the upcoming birth of a Bob-White baby. He couldn't help but wonder if the reason Mrs. Belden and Mrs. Lynch were pushing for all men to attend was because they expected both sides to go to all baby showers in the future, too. A distinct possibility, with so many couples intertwining.

"Well, it may not be as fun as Vegas but you, and the rest of the boys, will survive without too much trauma," she joked back with a jaunty wink. "Maybe."

His lopsided grin slowly moved across his face, taking her breath away again. Finally realizing that her hand was still on his, he turned his over and held onto hers. It pleased him when she didn't tug her hand back. "I don't think anywhere can be as fun as Vegas," he admitted, wondering if she would realize that the true reason he was having so much fun in Las Vegas was because of her.

She did. She couldn't mistake the intense look in his eyes, deepening the emerald green. Her heart started that erratic beat again. "Me, too," she mumbled inanely and glanced down. She lifted her eyebrows at the sight of their hands clasped together. It looked so right. Not only did it look right, it also felt right. Whoa, girl, she warned herself, and kept her head down, not wanting to reveal anything to him.

"Will you be able to come to the baby shower?" Jim wondered aloud. He'd enjoy it much better if he knew she'd be there, too.

She had to give him the same answer she'd recently given Mart. "I can't guarantee it, Jim. You now have firsthand knowledge of how unpredictable my job can be. My schedule is the same way. I could be called away on a mission or it could be a lag time. I simply don't know." A shoulder moved. She hated how hollow her answer sounded. "But I promise I'll do my very best to get there."

When the doorbell rang, cutting into their discussion, Trixie reluctantly let go of his hand and bolted out of her seat. "I think dinner's here," she said and hurried over to the door. "I ordered room service when you were exercising. I don't know about you but I didn't feel like going out tonight. At least, not for dinner."

Liking the thought of staying in, he followed and sniffed the air appreciatively at the smells wafting their way. "It smells wonderful," he murmured after she let a fancily dressed waiter wheel in their food.

Back in character, Trixie ordered the waiter to place the covered trays in the dining room with a haughty tone to her voice that had Jim staring at her. She immediately turned her back on the waiter when he went to work. "I hope you don't mind eating in. I was hungry," she explained softly to Jim. "And I thought you would be, too."

"You're right. I am," he replied and fished out a few bills from his wallet to hand over to the waiter, who disappeared from the room as efficiently as he'd entered it. Jim made sure to lock the door behind him. "It's been quite a day."

"Tell me about it," Trixie mumbled under her breath and closed her eyes. Between her first meeting with Max, their time in the penthouse and the passionate encounter in the pool, the explanation about her scar, and now the phone debacle with Mart, she needed something serious to help her relax. The large Jacuzzi tub floated behind her closed lids, as tantalizing as any gift that the gods could ever bequeath to a mere mortal. She was going to spend a long time in there before settling in to eat dinner. She ran a hand over the bunched muscles of her neck, not surprised to find them rigid and taut. A luxurious bath would do her mental state good. Sending an apologetic smile to Jim, she said quietly, "If it's okay with you, I'm going to take a long, hot bath before dinner."

"Take your time," he advised and gestured towards the dining room. He wasn't that hungry. He could wait for her. "The food'll wait. If it doesn't, we can always heat it up."

"Thanks," she murmured and walked to the door. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at him for a long, searching moment, one where he couldn't read the flickering of emotions deep within the sapphire of her eyes. She aimed a small smile his way. "I really do mean it, Jim. Thank you." Before he could ask what, exactly, she was thanking him for, she was gone.

Jim almost went after her. He took two steps before he stopped. He settled for running a hand through his slightly damp hair, wondering the entire time what she'd meant. He released a low groan and flopped down on a chair. The black of his cell caught his eyes. Curious, he picked up the innocent object, finding it hard to believe that she'd manage to intercept a phone call for him from Mart, of all people. Would Mart figure out the mistake? He hoped not. He was strong enough to finally admit that he _liked _this unusual Utopia he found himself in. Maybe Utopia wasn't the right term. More like a Trix-topia. He didn't want to have any interruptions affecting it. So what if they were pretending to be people they weren't? Or if there were a few bad guys swirled up in the mix? And that she had a partner who poked his head in at all the wrong moments? Mere formalities, he thought with an inward chortle and dropped his head back against the smooth leather.

Trixie was right, too. They would be in the clear if neither of their phones starting ringing off the hook. Chances were good that Mart wouldn't figure it out, either. Her brother would most likely be chalking the entire matter up to the pressure of having the soon-to-be born baby. "So far, so good," he chuckled under his breath and put the phone back down. No one with a Sleepyside number had called yet. He never once looked directly at the screen, never saw the tiny icon that told him there was a fresh text waiting for him.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fifteen

Strands of sunlight leisurely threaded its way through the curtains, illuminating the lone figure slumbering against the smooth leather. A finger carelessly brushed at a strand of hair that escaped from a sloppy and now a decidedly off-centered ponytail, a remnant of the night before. Opening a single eye, Trixie groggily glanced around the room. Stunned, she sat straight up. She wasn't in the bedroom. No, she was in the living room, nestled in the corner of the comfortable sectional. She relaxed back against the black leather, realizing she must have crashed here last night, probably during...Ah! She caught sight of a smattering of playing cards spread across the table, as well as a few empty beer bottles, soda cans, water bottles and four very sloppy piles of pretzels and peanuts. It was difficult but she managed to suppress a girlish giggle. Max and Shane had stopped by right after dinner. This time, all four of them had engaged in a nice, friendly, _non-profit_ game of poker.

A smile danced across her lips in remembrance. It had been a fun evening and exactly what she'd needed to help get her through the night. Relaxed, enjoyable, laid-back. Fun. She hadn't had to worry about spending an entire evening alone with Jim, especially after the passionate encounter in the pool or the more revealing tale of her scar. She realized with a tiny shake of her head that Max, who knew her very, very well, had probably figured out her dilemma. No small wonder why he'd chosen to drop by, with Shane in tow. Whether he'd done it to help keep her focused on the mission or to offer a brotherly-sort of a buffer should she need it, she couldn't hazard a guess. For whatever reason, he'd stopped by to make the night easier on her. He'd succeeded, too.

Not wanting to get up yet, she settled more firmly back against the leather. Fingers pulled at the soft white blanket someone must have draped across her during the night. It wasn't too hard to figure out who. He was sleeping in the recliner across from her. Quirking an eyebrow, she wondered how he'd managed to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep. He looked so uncomfortable. Long legs were stretched out. One hand dangled off the side. She grimaced in sympathy, imagining the painful tingle that would happen once he moved it. His other hand rested lightly on his thigh. His head rested uncomfortably off to one side. He was going to have one hell of a crick in his neck when he woke up.

Since she was being offered the unusual opportunity to study Jim without him knowing what she was doing, Trixie decided not to waste it. Not a single moment of it. Her grin sharpened. Inquisitive blue eyes started at his face, noticed the way his crop of red hair was sticking out in different directions. Most often he was impeccably dressed, whether in casual or formal attire, for whatever the occasion called for. It was unbearably charming to see him with his hair all askew and stubble on his face.

In sleep, he looked awfully peaceful. For better or worse, she brought her eyes to his mouth. She didn't realize how long or how hard she stared at that tempting point. It brought back memories of their most recent round of kisses. A hand pressed against her heart, which suddenly increased its rate, while eyes fluttered closed in some desperate plea for self-preservation. It was getting too tough to ignore or conceal the feelings she had for him. Too damn tough.

Jim slowly came awake. What registered first was the annoying stiffness in his neck. His hand rose to automatically rub at the sore spot. Before it even reached its destination, his hand started to throb with nearly painful pins and needles. He shook it but the motion didn't help; only seemed to increase the annoyance of the tingles. Where the hell had he fallen asleep last night? He wasn't on the sectional; that much was certain. Groaning under his breath, he opened his eyes, saw the arm of the chair right below his head. So he was in the recliner. That would explain why his back was just as stiff, why his hand was killing him, and why his legs were begging to be stretched out. He swung his stiff neck to the side…and saw who had the pleasure of sleeping on the much more comfortable sectional.

She was cuddled up in the corner, he noted with a wry chuckle, and appeared to still be in the grips of a deep and restful slumber. Because she wasn't awake, he gave himself permission to stare without feeling the littlest amount of guilt. Long tangled curls. Thick eyelashes fanning her cheeks. A smattering of faded freckles across her face. Naturally pink lips. Ones he knew from past experience were as luscious as they promised to be. A tug started in his gut, the one that told him he couldn't resist her pull much longer. He didn't realize it but his smile grew until it spread across his face.

A table filled with the remnants of their unusual poker night stood between them. At the time, he'd been very grateful for the arrival of her partners from her agency. They served as an excellent barrier, allowing both him and Trixie to take pleasure in the evening instead of floundering about for what they should do next. He'd had fun playing with them, too. Much more fun than he'd had the other night. The reason why was a table-length away. She'd been there through it all, sitting on the floor, laughing, giggling and teasing all of them and being teased in return. The evening had surprised him. It had felt more like a Bob-White outing. Now, though, now with the bright light of the morning stealing across both of them, he wasn't quite so grateful. Oh, definitely not now. Jim sucked in a deep breath and finally allowed himself to admit it. Not out loud but in his mind, in his heart. Hell, he'd love for them to finally face what was going on between them. It was clearer than the sparkling water in Mr. Young's penthouse pool that something was brewing between them, something big and possibly wondrous, if they managed to do it right this time and not mess it up. Truly, it was only a matter of time before they both gave up fighting it. He was smart enough, brave enough, to admit that he was standing right on the edge of the precipice, already prepared to jump. Eyes narrowed while he wondered if she was ready to take the plunge with him. Damn but he hoped so.

Pretending sleep was more difficult than she'd expected it to be. Trixie wasn't one who liked staying still. She definitely wasn't one who could feel someone's eyes on her and not look back, whether in open curiosity or in blatant defiance. But she didn't want to embarrass him for doing exactly what she'd done only a few minutes earlier. Staying as motionless as possible, she successfully feigned sleep. Only the slight heightening of color in her cheeks told that she was awake and aware.

Jim didn't catch its meaning. He watched the rosy pink start to creep across her face and smiled, finding it adorable. Because he liked studying her, especially when she didn't realize it, he continued to do just that, and while his mind wandered. It was the start of Saturday, the beginning of their fourth day in Las Vegas. They had already packed a lot into, well, into his vacation or her case, whichever way one wanted to view it. It was certainly turning out to be more memorable than what he'd expected it to be. After his mother pushed him into taking the trip, he'd imagined he would spend most of it in his room, working on whatever came up at W&H, International, occasionally breaking out to patronize that restaurant for his mother's friend.

The restaurant! His expression instantly turned rueful when he realized he had yet to make it there. There was always today, he philosophized with a small shrug. If it fit in with their plans of for the day, whatever they were. He wasn't certain what she had in store for them, only that Mr. Young was supposed to contact them at some point. A detail man to the core, it stunned him to realize that not knowing their plans didn't bother him in the least.

Concentrating on breathing kept her body calm and her features serene. She was also thinking about the day and what it would bring. Without a doubt, their time together was dwindling away. She, as well as Max and Shane, firmly believed that Mr. Young was going to make them an offer. Today. She already knew what they were supposed to do. He'd lowball them. She and Jim would hem and haw a bit, see if they could improve the offer, but, ultimately, they would need to accept whatever they felt was the best one he'd make. Either today or tomorrow, they would complete the deal, leave Las Vegas soon afterwards, while the rest of her team would figure out where Mr. Young took their merchandise next. And that would be the end of their idyllic interlude together. She'd fly back to San Diego. He'd hop on a flight to New York. Another successful mission. Odd. She didn't feel the amount of pride she normally felt at the possible completion of a mission.

Jim frowned. He wondered why her forehead suddenly wrinkled, why her face became pinched. She didn't look as content as she had before. Instead, she looked disappointed or sad. He couldn't quite put his finger on the correct emotion. What could she be dreaming about? Hands on knees, he sat forward, almost as if he could encourage her to tell him.

Still keeping her eyes closed, not wanting to give away her secret yet, Trixie resolutely smoothed her expression out, castigating herself the entire time. Of course, their time together would end. Of course, they would go their different ways. Of course. It was in the cards for them. His life was in New York. Hers was, well, hers was anywhere her agency deemed necessary. Separate lives. But, a tiny little voice inserted, she didn't have to _like_ it. And how she didn't. It amazed her that in the span of four short days she'd already become used to having Jim around, to having him to depend on, to having him…there. Right there, right next to her. Supporting her, without question, without fail, even during this incredibly unique set of circumstances.

Having no clue how deep her thoughts were going, Jim stood up and stretched out the kinks in his long, lean body. He finally looked beyond her face, noticed that the blanket had slipped off her legs at some point in the night. Skirting the table, he picked up the soft material, laid it back over her legs, tucking it carefully around her bare toes. Absently patting her leg, he turned away. The kitchen was calling. There was hope that coffee would help jumpstart his system. While he was falling into an unusual habit of sleeping in on his vacation, the extra rest wasn't doing him much good, not when every waking thought seemed to center around the vivacious blonde peacefully slumbering away. Because he couldn't help himself, he aimed one last look at her and padded down the hall toward the kitchen.

She waited until his footsteps died away. Then, her breath came out on a long whoosh of air. "Gleeps," she mumbled, and stared down at her legs. Impossibly, she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her calf, right where he'd patted her. She covered the area with her hand, awed and amazed, and then dropped her head in her hands. Grumbling, she admitted aloud, "I really don't think I can stand much more of this." It was becoming blatantly obvious that something had to give. If it didn't, and soon, she may truly end up going insane.

Trixie glanced up when Jim came strolling back into the doorway ten minutes later, carrying two steaming cups of fresh brewed coffee in his hands. "I thought the smell would help wake you up," he greeted and offered her a cup before retaking his seat across from her.

Scooting farther into the corner of the sectional, she accepted the cup and smiled down into it. It wasn't black, was a very pretty shade of light tan. "You remembered," she declared, eyeing him over the rim.

"One thing I've learned over the past few days is how you take your coffee," he remarked cheerfully. He preferred his black; she most certainly did not.

Her grateful smile was her thanks. After taking a sip, she swept her hand over the table, encompassing the mess they'd left behind. Judging from the cards on the table, it looked like Shane had won the last hand of the night. A royal flush was showing. None of the other hands looked remotely close to beating him. "Some night, huh?"

"Yeah." He stretched his neck from one side to the other in an attempt to alleviate some of the stiffness. It didn't help. Jim gave up and set the recliner into a gentle motion. "I have to say that while I enjoyed playing poker with your friends a few nights ago, last night was even better."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "The stakes weren't quite as high," she noted dryly and brandished a broken pretzel through the air.

"I don't know," he joked, amazed they could be so relaxed around each other. The uncomfortable stiltedness that had marked seven years of their lives was truly in the past. He firmly believed it. He never wanted it to come back. Never. In fact, he was fast becoming committed to making certain they never had to strive to be awkward or polite around each other again. He wanted comfort. He wanted ease. Most of all, he wanted honest feeling, honest expressions, honest thoughts, not the overly polite and rigid manners from the past. One could say that he wanted it all. Coming back to the conversation at hand with a jolt, he remarked playfully, "Pretzels and peanuts are a pretty valuable commodity, you know. I don't know what the economy would be like without them."

Her throaty laugh was his reward. It shot all the way through him, lighting him up from the inside out. She put her cup down, grabbed the half full bag of pretzels, which they had jokingly referred to as 'the bank', and popped one in her mouth. It was a little stale, not quite as fresh as it had been the night before. "They tasted better last night."

He chuckled again before getting serious. Watching her closely, he suggested, "Let's talk about today. If I remember correctly, there is nothing special planned. We're waiting on Mr. Young again, right?"

"You've got it. Nothing special is planned…at least, not yet. We simply need to keep ourselves visible and available." She brushed away the pretzel crumbs. "I'm thinking we should stay out of the suite as long as we can, hopefully until Mr. Young or one of his cronies contact us. We're stuck in limbo until they do. We can't plan out anything else until we know what he wants us to do. Chances are very good that he'll put a deal on the table. I'd be surprised if he didn't."

Jim sat back in his chair, slowly digested the information. It would be nice to put the charade behind them. He didn't doubt it. But it left an unanswered question. What would happen to them when her case was over? Instead of voicing the one he wanted to know the answer to, he forced out a more practical one instead. "Where do you want to start?"

"The casino," she answered promptly, brushing back that stubborn curl that never wanted to stay in its proper place. She rolled her eyes and remarked sarcastically, "Maybe this time we could actually lose some money there, don't you think?"

"If you let me sit at the poker table for a while, we definitely would." Picking up a handful of his winnings from the night before, he let them sift through his fingers to land with a small plunk on the table. Even with their unique currency, he still had the smallest pile. Gambling, it seemed, wasn't his strong point. "Somehow, I don't think any dealer worth their salt would accept our favored currency."

"Definitely not." Trixie threw back the blanket and arched her back. "It's after nine o'clock already," she noted, staring at the clock. She'd had another full night of uninterrupted sleep. "We should probably get ready."

"Hmm," was the noncommittal sound he made. He didn't want the coziness of their morning together to end. Not yet. Sharing a cup of coffee with her seemed so domestic, definitely something he could get used to on a regular basis. Searching for anything to keep her from leaving the room, he settled on the objects sitting side by side on a small end table. He pointed at their cells. "I think we're okay."

She lifted her arms above her head, prolonging her stretch. She didn't see the way the cotton of her t-shirt stretched across her chest. "What do you mean?"

Jim had to force himself to look her directly in the face. No way did he want to get caught ogling any part of her, no matter how tantalizing. He much preferred to do that when she was asleep. Clearing his throat, he chided gently, "Mart's call. Don't you remember?"

Her face shone with remembrance. "Gleeps! That call. How could I forget?" Trixie slapped her forehead with her hand and agreed with him. "Yeah, you're right. I think we're okay, too. Mart didn't realize his mistake. Or, more accurately, my mistake. If he had, we would have heard about it by now. His mind must be too occupied with all things baby right now. But you're going to have to act like you don't know about the baby shower when he finally does call you," she warned him. "We don't want to blow it."

"I won't let on." Jim held up one hand in the time-honored Boy Scout pledge. "You've got my word."

"Thanks." She shuddered dramatically, pathetically grateful that Mart hadn't figured it out. "I hope I never try to answer your cell again. One time was definitely enough." One more leisurely stretch and she stood up.

Dressed in dark red mesh shorts and a plain white T-shirt, she looked simply marvelous to him. He knew she'd have to put on one of those interestingly unusual outfits her friends planned out for her and he would most certainly appreciate the sight of her in said outfit. However, he couldn't help but prefer her like this. Tousled hair, rumpled shirt, wrinkled shorts, absolutely no make-up. The only thing that could make it better was if she was wearing his T-shirt, the one he'd accidently dumped out of her bag. To his knowledge, she hadn't worn it yet. Hadn't even mentioned it to him. It had to be a good thing she didn't, though. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw its material draping around her body. Even now, his body was practically screaming at him to do something already, and to do it now. Smothering a groan, he made himself settle back against the chair while his hand gripped the mug so hard his knuckles turned white.

Totally oblivious to the train of sensual thoughts assaulting him, Trixie hooked a thumb towards the bedroom. "I'm going to attack that closet of mine. If I'm not back out in a reasonable amount of time, be sure to send a search party in for me. It may mean that the clothes finally won. There has to be…something worth wearing today." She couldn't help but cringe and moved on bare feet towards the door.

"Trixie," he called out hoarsely before his mind could tell him not to, to just let her leave and let him stew in his own thoughts, without her being aware of them. A flush started to smear its way across his face. Feeling like the world's biggest fool, he stared down into his cup and inwardly cursed himself.

She turned around curiously. There was something different about his tone of voice. Something…raspy. She pulled the scrunchy out of her hair, wrapped it around her wrist. "Yes, Jim?"

A long second. Possibly the longest of his life. "Nothing," he finally muttered, finding the intricate pattern on the carpet immensely interesting. There was simply no way he could get out what he wanted to say or, more accurately, what he wanted to do. With her. Right at this very moment. His frown grew while he cursed himself for starting this in the first place.

"All right." She sounded baffled even as she assured him it was fine. Trixie should have left but she didn't. She paused in the doorway, unable to look anywhere else but at him. When he brought his head up and she saw his face, she took a wide step back. His expression. His eyes. Put together, they unnerved her. She couldn't quite decipher why, though. At least, that's what she tried to convince herself. Her brain couldn't, or didn't, want to tell…but she was afraid that her body most certainly could and did. That damn heart of hers started to triple in speed. In defense, she said the first thing that came to her mind. "Breakfast," spilled out of her stupidly.

Just about the last thing he expected her to say. He tore his mind away from the path it desperately wanted to go and repeated just as stupidly, "Breakfast?"

She took another tiny step backwards. Really, her will power wasn't as strong as it should be. Not when it came to him. She needed to get away before she did something stupid. "Here or out?" Her blush returned with the higher-pitched squeak of her voice. Good Lord, she thought, frustrated with herself. She wasn't thirteen anymore. She was a highly trained agent. A special agent. A secret agent. She could handle this…she could handle him. And yet, she couldn't help but move back further into the hallway.

From his position in the living room, he was surprised and intrigued by the notion of an obviously edgy Trixie. Had he done that to her? If he had, how the hell had he done it? He would love to know. Testing out his theory, feeling more confident now, wondering if he wasn't the only clueless one in this whole mess, he stood up, and slowly approached her. His eyes didn't leave her face. As he came nearer, he was rewarded. She moved back yet again.

Trixie felt the corner of a thigh-high decorative table catch her in the hip and let out a small yelp. She reached behind, caught the sculpture of a magician captured in glossy ceramic before it could topple over. She didn't need to glance in the mirror to know that her face was as red as the magician's cape. Using it as an excuse, she righted the darn thing. Nervously, she looked back up.

Jim intentionally stopped in front of her. He wasn't really crowding her. She could easily slip away to the right or to the left, all without any problems, all without coming into direct contact with him. His hands stayed on his hips while he stared intently at her face, missing nothing. "Your choice," he murmured. His answer referred to her question about where to have breakfast but his tone…did not.

Why did those two little words sound so damn seductive? They were talking about breakfast, for crying out loud. Breakfast! It took almost a superhuman effort but she pushed the next two words out, "Definitely out." Staying in would be too stimulating, too tempting. At the moment, it seemed smarter, and a whole lot safer, to get out in public. Fast.

"Great. We'll head out to breakfast, then hit the casino. You can go into the bedroom first," he offered but didn't move. He stood in front of her, watching and waiting with the patience of a hawk to see how she would respond.

The bedroom. He'd have to bring up the bedroom. Blue eyes widened to twice their normal size. Ever so carefully, being certain not to bump the damn table or the silly statue again, Trixie sidled her way to the side, towards the bedroom and possible sanctuary. "It, ah, shouldn't take me too long, you know, to get dressed," she shared, her voice breathier than normal. He nodded. She turned and, while she really wanted to flee down the hall, made herself walk away as calmly as possible. Only she knew the effort it took to complete such a simple and every day action. When she made it to the safety of the bedroom, she closed the door and rested against it.

Jim waited until she closed the bedroom door before dropping his head against the wall with a small thud. He wasn't as lucky as she had been. The statue jumped and toppled, to land on the floor with a muffled thump. He rolled his eyes, bent down to retrieve the ugly thing, and had to laugh when it came up without its head. "I know how you feel, man. Believe me, I know," he told the inanimate object and went back down for it. He laid both pieces on the table. One long glance towards the door and he reluctantly turned in the other direction. There had to be something in the suite to keep him occupied.

Inside the bedroom, Trixie spent a full minute leaning against the door, contemplating the carpet on the floor. How the hell could he still do this to her? How? The question floated over and over in her mind. It was tougher for her to admit that she didn't mind it. Not one little bit. But if he could make her go stupid with merely a look, she figured she might be able to even the score. A little. If she didn't chicken out. Satisfied, she scurried over to the closet. As she searched through the closet for the first time with an almost eager hand, her gaze landed on an outfit she'd never thought she'd attempt to wear. She took out the clothes, the matching boots, studied them closely. One eyebrow arched in pure speculation. With this arsenal, maybe she could more than even the score.

Forty-five minutes later, she breezed out of the bedroom, her expression as light and airy as she could make it. Inside, she was nervous, tense and jumpy. It felt like a flock of butterflies had taken up residence. She put a hand on her stomach in an attempt to appease. It didn't work. She peeked around the corner of the living room, only to be foiled. Jim, of course, wasn't inside. Turning, she contemplated the area of the kitchen and almost made it before that damn connecting door opened and her partner of the absolutely horrible timing poked his dark head through once again.

"'Morning, Belden," Max called out, sounding downright chipper this morning. More interested in the coffee table than his partner, he gave her only a cursory glance. The table was clean now, sparkling so. It looked much different than when he'd left it the night before. He sighed in wistful remembrance of the many hands they'd played there. Easily, it was the most fun he'd ever had playing poker. "Today's the day, you know. If nothing comes up, Young will be accepting your deal. I can feel it."

"I think so, too," she forced herself to answer back just as cheerfully, doing her best not to look back towards the hallway, and also to not feel ridiculous in her outfit. Now it didn't seem like such a great idea, not when her intended target wasn't going to see her in it first. "How are you doing this morning, Max?"

"Great!" he replied and turned away from his study of the table. He finally got a good look at her outfit. He'd seen her dressed up before; their job required anything from the posh and the regal to the hardened and the streetwise. His face momentarily revealed his shock. "But not as great as you," he mumbled under his breath, a wide grin breaking across his face, well aware of the reason why she was looking so extraordinarily fetching this morning. If he read it right, and he'd bet his soon-to-be firstborn on it, Frayne was a dead man.

Trixie cocked her head to the side, unable to hold back the hated blush. She'd heard exactly what he said. It was better all around to pretend that she hadn't. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." He pretended to cough. He wasn't an idiot. There was no way he was bringing up his thoughts, especially to her. Searching for something to get them onto another acceptable topic of conversation, he gestured towards the living room. "I see the evidence of our night has been cleaned up."

"It has?" She followed his hand, saw the clean table, and smiled. "I bet Jim did that while I was getting ready."

He'd only meant to pop in, say good morning, and then move on. But, seeing her dressed the way she was, made him rethink his moves. Decision made, hoping to help out the two who were so obviously bumblers at making any kind of the right moves with each other, he stepped back and bowed with a flourish, inviting her into his suite. At the very least, he could help her make an entrance. "Get over here, Belden. We need to go over our strategy for the day."

She granted him a perplexed look but gave in without a question. She highly doubted that they could have any sort of strategy for the day until they were contacted by Mr. Young. Before slipping through the door, she called out over her shoulder. "Jim! The bedroom's free."

In the kitchen, Jim heard her, followed by the sound of a door closing. He understood immediately. She'd disappeared into the next room, was most likely going over the day's schedule with Max. He shook his head, thinking it was awfully handy of the man to have finagled the suite right next door to theirs. His hands stopped their work for a moment. Warm water rushed over them. How, exactly, had Max managed to do that, and so swiftly? For that matter, how had he managed to create an entire new identity for James W. Hart, all without missing a beat?

Jim stared at the backsplash thoughtfully and went back to washing the cups. There were more than a few questions brewing within him over the entire situation. Just some odd thoughts, some odd things that didn't seem to add up, not when he looked at the whole picture. He hoped to put more than a few of them to rest at some point in the near future. For now, he was willing to live in the moment and not let the questions bother him. Overly much. Although…they seemed to have a lot of interesting resources for a small private investigative agency. He absently turned off the water and shook his head. Yeah, he'd try to brush it aside. In need of something else to do, Jim headed towards the bedroom.

In no time at all, he was freshly shaved, dressed, ready and waiting in the living room. Every few minutes he stared at the clock. She'd been gone for at least half an hour, possibly longer. What were they doing over there? He didn't like to give in to pacing but couldn't help it. There wasn't much else to do. At least, not much he wanted to do. Instead, he watched in near fascination as the ticking second hand on the clock twirled its way around. It felt like it was mocking him.

When the door handle started to turn, Jim drew himself up. Trying desperately hard to make it appear that he hadn't been waiting for her, which was ironically enough exactly what he'd been doing, he leaned up against the bar and brought a freshly open bottle of water to his lips. "Hey, Trix," he said calmly before she stepped into the room. And then he couldn't think, let alone speak.

Framed in the doorway, Trixie nodded but couldn't say anything. Her mouth was suddenly as dry as the nearby desert. He was dressed in a pair of soft brown cords with a cobalt blue shirt. Blue! The color fit him so well, too. She turned back, spent an inordinate amount of time on closing the door. Her courage from earlier was rapidly disappearing, making her feel like an absolute idiot for choosing the outfit she had.

He caught the bottle of water before it bobbled over. His eyes started at her feet. No longer bare. They were covered in slick black leather boots. High-heeled leather boots. Ones that zipped up the sides and stopped just above her knees, where a tiny leather skirt took over. Red. Of course, it was red. What other color would it be? It slung low along her slim hips, which were encircled by a silver belt. A black silk camisole completed the look. Thin spaghetti straps held the silk up while it dared to dip low between her breasts, allowing a nice amount of cleavage to show. She had done something to her hair. Her curls were their normal tangled mass but they were pinned back with sparkling pins and fell around her face in some kind of a riotous waterfall. Cosmetics were also part of her arsenal; had been competently utilized. Smoky, smoky eyes. Bright red lips. Dear Lord. He wouldn't be at all surprised if his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth. He couldn't tell. His mind had shut down.

Correctly reading the amazement but totally missing out on the desire, Trixie's face went as red as her skirt. She wasn't good at this…or maybe the truth was she wasn't as good when Jim was her intended target. Either way, she felt ridiculous. She absolutely hated feeling like this. Those smoky eyes of hers he'd recently admired slanted and narrowed. "That's it," she grouched and whirled around on the thin stems of her heels. She started to stomp across the carpet. "I'm going to change."

Before she could huff away, he had her by the arm, halting her. "No!" burst out of him.

She slid a glance at him, her head tossed back, successfully masking embarrassment with defiance. "First Max spent half our meeting teasing me. Gleeps, he even snuck a picture of me with his phone and then sent it to Jocelyn. He had the audacity to ask her if she would be so kind as to get a matching outfit for her. Now you're looking at me like you've never seen me before." Although it cost her some, she looked him directly in the eye. "I think I've learned that this is one outfit I can safely put away and never try on again."

It finally got through. She was embarrassed and mortified, with frustration evident on her face and a red blush splotching her cheeks. He couldn't help it. Her reaction was so inconsistent with the feminine power her clothes were exuding. He kept his hand firm on her arm, not allowing her to bolt like she wanted to. Then he ran a finger along the edge of her jaw, a soft, feather-light touch, and saw the exact moment when she noticed what he was doing.

Slowly the color left her face. "Jim?" she questioned breathlessly. Her lips parted unconsciously.

"Change, Trix, but only if you want to," he murmured quietly. Leaning down, going ever so slowly, he gave her plenty of time to back away should she want to. When she didn't, he placed his lips on hers. Going against the stronger feelings running rampant through him, he kissed her. Sweetly, softly. With infinite care. It was a long, slow kiss, one made more powerful with its sheer simplicity.

Trixie's eyelids fluttered closed. Tentatively, her hands came up to rest on each side of his face while she responded in kind. She forgot about her clothes, her insecurities, her embarrassment, and let him lead. She followed without hesitation. With his touch so light, his lips so gentle, she could only feel honored, cherished even. It took a while for it to sink in that they were kissing, well and truly kissing, in the privacy of their suite, without anyone else around, without any thought to the charade. Only then did her eyes pop open.

Because he'd been more than pleasurably watching her during their kiss, he correctly read the awed astonishment traipsing across her face. Pressing his forehead against hers, he waited until his breathing evened out. His hands rode low on her skirt, holding her against him.

Gathering her thoughts took longer than normal, especially with the memory of his lips on hers. Although she hated to let reality intrude, she reluctantly allowed it to anyway. "Jim, we, umm…we're not out in public yet, you know," she reminded him hesitatingly, staring at him in confusion. "You don't have to kiss me. There's no one here that needs to be convinced that we're a happily engaged couple."

He looked down at her, squeezed her sides. Deciding that some serious levity was definitely needed or else he was going to give in and toss her over his shoulder and haul her off to the bedroom, he offered her a lopsided grin. "Maybe I needed some practice."

Her mouth dropped open. "Practice?" stammered out foolishly.

His grin widened degree by degree. She was adorable in her confusion. He leaned down, let out a heavy breath near her ear. "Or maybe I just wanted to kiss you." Before she could respond to that statement, he picked her purse up and shoved it into her hands. Trixie didn't have a choice but to accept it. He pressed the pink cell into her free hand, completely forgetting his own cell. When he opened the door, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her along. "Come on. Let's go."

She had to concentrate on her steps so as not to trip in her ridiculously high heels. "Jim!" she spoke insistently when he finally slowed down and she could catch her breath. "Or maybe? Or maybe? Come on. You've got to tell me the real answer here."

He stopped, right in the center of the hallway, unmindful of the other guests passing them by, and leaned down. For her ears only, he murmured, "I promise I'll give you your 'real answer'…when we get back to our room."

Trixie was left with her mouth gaping open again as he turned and strode swiftly towards the elevator. She leveled a glare his way and scurried as fast as her boots would allow until she was standing next to him. "Not fair," she mumbled lowly, really wanting to know now the reasoning being the kiss.

He pulled her close, dropped a comforting kiss on the top of her head, and nodded at a group of tourists exiting the elevator. "Patience, Trix. Patience," he advised playfully, knowing full well that virtue wasn't one of her strong points. Adding with a small shrug, he said, "Besides, it's nice to be on the other side for once. I've spent a good portion of this vacation waiting for an answer from you. I rather like the thought of you having to wait for one from me for a little while."

Trixie opened her mouth to disagree; then shut it. He was right. And he'd been much more patient than she would have been, had the shoe, or, in this case, the designer boot, been on the other foot. She followed him into the elevator and returned his smile with an easy one of her own. So what if her mind was conjuring up lots and lots of delicious things she wanted him to do with her? She could handle it. She was almost certain of it. However, the thought of retribution, while petty, definitely had its appeal. She was already wearing one attempt. "I do have certain ways of making you talk, you know. But I'll leave it alone." She sidled up next to him. Her chest brushed against his forearm. Standing on her tiptoes she breathed in his ear before adding, "Just this once."

If that was one of the ways she had of making him talk, he'd give her carte blanche to do it anytime she liked, and to hell with making her wait for any sort of an answer. He closed his eyes, felt shivers race each other up and down his spine. "You're better at this than I am," he admitted, his voice rough with need.

Satisfied she'd gotten to him as much as he'd gotten to her, she dropped back and tossed her curls, a smug little feline smile on her face. She smoothed hands down the leather of the skirt she normally wouldn't be caught dead in. It didn't embarrass her to have it on anymore. She sent him a broad wink and paraphrased a similar response of his, "Maybe I just wanted some…practice."

She was flirting with him. _Flirting_. It sank in slowly. God, she was priceless. He wasn't going to be able to wait to sort out the strong feelings ricocheting between them. Not any longer. Because he knew, he just damn well knew, he wasn't going to be able to keep his hands off her once they made it back to their room. Settling for second best, Jim pulled her against him in the privacy the elevator offered them. He rubbed the side of his face against the softness of her curls. Looking at the wall, he took a deep breath and calmly spoke the truth. "Trix, you can practice on me anytime you want."

She gasped in astonishment. All desire to continue a light flirtation slipped away. Glad he couldn't see her reaction, she leaned into him, sighing lightly when his arms tightened around her. She dropped her head against his chest. Because she could read the honesty in his voice, she couldn't do anything else but respond in kind. "I think I will."

It was his turn to be shocked. It took a full minute for him to come up with something resembling a coherent response. By the time he did, it was too late. The elevator dinged. The door swished opened. And they were looking out into the crowded lobby of the hotel. Looking cool, calm, and composed but feeling anything but, Trixie stepped out first. She looked back expectantly when he didn't follow. Forcing her lips to curve up, she asked teasingly, "Aren't you coming?"

Still stunned, he forced his lagging legs to move before the elevator doors swooshed closed again. Jim grabbed her hand when he reached her. Ignoring the bustling lobby, he murmured by her ear, "Trix, what you said back there…?"

She broke in with a coy little laugh before he could finish. "Didn't you promise me breakfast?" Then she stood as tall as she could and explained lowly, having already spotted one of Mr. Young's watchdogs leaning up against the front lobby desk, talking with the clerk, "Not now. Ritch is at three o'clock, Jim. We're on."

Understanding dawned quickly. As she said, they were the main event again. Amazingly, it didn't bother him. Because he was with her and they'd truly reached a point of no return. It made him feel exhilarated. He looked down into those batting blue eyes, tucked a finger under her chin because he had to be touching her in some small way. "Breakfast it is," he declared, his hand slipping down to take hold of hers. Together, they walked through the lobby, she in her sky-high boots, he in his soft Italian leather loafers, moving towards the signs pointing their way to the many restaurants the hotel offered. Along the way he spoke again, his words quiet, his tone firm, and inwardly chuckling at himself because he was forced to wait for an answer, again, "But we will continue our talk…later."


	16. Chapter 16

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Sixteen

"Let's see if this machine is ready to pay up. I have a strong feeling about it," Trixie declared, sending a cheerful wink his way. Fingers topped with a vibrant red gestured towards the older style slot machine. Newer and more technologically advanced ones dominated the front room of the casino but the hotel hadn't completely done away with the past. Two full rows were dedicated to the old-fashioned models of years gone by. With the grace of a veteran slot player, she simultaneously slid her plastic cup under the payout opening and slipped a slim hip back onto the stool.

"You've been at the same machine for twenty minutes now," Jim noted, smiling indulgently down at her from his spot by her side. He rested negligently against the machine while the surrounding area buzzed with the sounds of gamblers rhythmically feeding their coins into the slots and praying for that one big win that would turn their lives around. They happened to be the only two people on this side of the front room. Everyone else enjoying the slots were more entranced with the flashier and fancier models and had turned their noses up at the older, more worn-looking ones. But not Trixie. She'd made a bee-line for the one-armed bandits the second they'd left the main room of the casino and had immediately commandeered one at the edge of the aisle. He'd obediently trailed along, assuming she wanted to pick the sorriest looking machines to help them lose some money at the casino.

So far they hadn't lost so much as a dime. Their luck continued to hold up amazingly well, just like it had a few days earlier. Much to his amazement, he'd even managed to win a respectable amount at the poker table. He couldn't credit his skill, or lack thereof, for the winnings residing in his pocket. He knew it was because the three other gentlemen at the table hadn't been able to take their collective eyes off of Trixie, who'd stationed herself right next to him throughout the entire game and flashed her pretty smile or released a throaty laugh at exactly the right moments. The memory made him chuckle. "You've been saying the exact same thing for the past fifteen minutes. I'd give it a rest, Trix. I don't think this is the lucky one you're looking for."

"I'm not willing to give up on it yet." She swung an idle leg, dropped the required amount of coins in the slot, and covered the handle of the machine before slanting an arched glance at him. "This could be the one, you know."

"I highly doubt that," he shot back, his voice dripping with barely concealed sarcasm. A cheer rang, riotous and jubilant, as someone else won over on the flashier side of the slots. Hooking a thumb in the general direction of the noise, Jim needlessly explained, "That's the third time someone's won over there. They're having much better luck over there on that side of the room than we are having over here. Trust me," he insisted strongly.

She waved an airy hand, unwilling to give up her seat. It wasn't love for this particular machine that kept her rooted or a mistaken gambler's belief that the slot machine was finally getting ready for a big payoff. She wanted to stay because of its position. From her vantage point she had a clear view of anyone entering or exiting the casino, either from the back room or the front entrance. Fluttering lashes thickly coated with mascara at him, she insisted, "I want to give this baby another chance. It's got that old-world charm to it. It's about due." She sucked in a deep breath, searched inside for the courage to be playful and flirtatious while at the same time covering up the truth of the simple phrase, and then parlayed back his words, "Trust me."

He couldn't help but laugh with her. Or maybe at her. He couldn't really tell, not any longer. He only knew she looked so darn cute in her conviction that the slot machine was finally going to pay off. Inclining his head to the side, he nodded and spread his arms out, inviting her to go ahead with her plans. "Go for it."

"Believe me. I intend to." Her answer had absolutely nothing to do with her present form of gambling. There wasn't a hint of amusement on her face or in her tone. Instead, she looked at him through impossibly clear eyes and held her breath, wondering if he realized what she really wanted to go for, what she was really admitting to, what she really and truly _wanted_. The slight widening of his eyes, the quick intake of his breath, told her his answer. Affirmative. Unable to believe the amount of raw desire suddenly staring back at her, she dropped her gaze quickly. In serious need of a distraction, she bit her bottom lip and pulled the handle. Trixie watched without seeing as the pictures rolled and rolled. She didn't notice the various fruits, bells or gold bars as they slowed down and were slowly revealed. No, she saw green eyes, a beautiful shade of emerald, filled with an almost amazing amount of want and need. All for her.

The flashing of lights, the dinging of bells, brought her back to reality with a start. She let out a small breath, noting the still pictures staring back at her. A winning combination. Not the big payoff but it was enough to make her laugh, to cause her bright blue eyes to glow. She tossed her head back, flashed him a smile tinged with feline satisfaction. Going for cocky, she winked and teased, "See? I told you it was only a matter of time before we won here."

He refrained from mentioning the almost painfully obvious fact that she was currently being paid back with all the coins she'd spent the past fifteen minutes feeding into the machine. Since it seemed better to keep that little glaring gem of truth to himself, he answered solemnly, eyes twinkling with humor, "I stand corrected. You were right."

"Aren't I always?" she shot back, crinkling her nose. Her laugh joined his as coins continued to fall with a melodic clatter into the cup. "It's not quite the jackpot, though. But it's enough. We'll take it." After handing the cup over to him, which he promptly placed on top of the machine, she slid off the stool and did a small victory dance, which seriously impressed him since she was wearing those boots with the lethal heels attached to them.

Because she looked so damn charming, because he couldn't resist the opportunity, or, hell, any opportunity, truth be told; because, well, because he wanted to touch her and she was finally as receptive to him as he was to her, he pushed away from the machine and held out his arms in an open invitation. His heart soared when she went into them without a second thought while he relished the feel of her in his arms. He lifted her off her feet, turned her around in a small series of victory circles before eventually coming to a breathless stop. Since it had to be done, he buried his face in her curls and was immediately surrounded by the sweet, tantalizing smell of her berry scented shampoo. "We can't seem to lose today, can we?" he mumbled by her ear, wanting to be somewhere private…where they could be extremely alone.

"Not today. Definitely not today. It's our day. I don't think anything can go wrong." Her vivacious giggles carried over the room, caused more than a few heads to turn in their direction and stare at them. Only she knew it wasn't the triumph of beating the slots that made her laughter so deep, her eyes sparkle, or put the color of summer roses blooming so becomingly in her cheeks. Since she was finally being truthful with herself, she could admit that she didn't just _like _these little moments. Now she was starting to live for them, when she felt liberated enough to let her true feelings shine through without any pretense. It got even better because Jim was reciprocating so nicely, in every single, meaningful way. There was only one tiny, frustration pinprick of annoyance that continuously rose up to jab at her when she allowed it to. Her job. Or, more accurately, her mission. It was getting in the way; big time. As much as she'd like for her stay in Vegas to be about her and Jim, it couldn't be. Not totally. She was there for a reason. It sucked, absolutely sucked, that she couldn't concentrate on what she really wanted to concentrate on. All she wanted to do was get back to their room and continue their discussion from earlier…and hopefully start something else. Her heart started to pick up in an anticipation that was almost painful. But they were currently at the mercy of Mr. Young and stuck in limbo while waiting for his contact. With that in mind, she pulled back. However, she couldn't completely let go. Her hands twined loosely around his neck.

Jim didn't think. He acted on instinct. His lips were on hers before the thought fully formed in his mind. It was becoming all too familiar, all too necessary, all too everything for him. If he held it a little longer, held onto her a little tighter than was acceptable for a public place, even in a casino in Las Vegas where the rules were considerably less strict, he didn't admit it or allow himself to feel overly guilty about it. When he reluctantly broke contact, he dropped his forehead to hers and couldn't help but note the rapidness of her breathing. It matched his. Perfectly. It pleased him in a purely masculine sort of a way. He wasn't sure of everything about her. Couldn't be, not with all the history that existed between them. But there was one thing he was certain of, one thing that was becoming clearer with each passing moment. Each kiss affected her as strongly as it did him, of that he no longer had any doubt.

In fact, every single touch seemed to bring out the same response. Today, they hadn't been able to stop touching each other in some way, whether it was an innocent holding of the hands or something stronger, like the embrace they'd just shared. Each time he looked down into her face, he saw the same need, the same passion, the same desire that he damn well knew was reflected on his own face shining back at him. It left him with only one question. When the hell would they be able to get back to their suite? His head shot up while he searched in vain for the elusive item that didn't seem to have a home in any casino within the city limits. Yep. Just as expected, no clock. He didn't know how much longer he could wait. Seven years was definitely too long; it would be way too much to ask to wait any longer. Needing to focus on something besides his latest fantasy, he reluctantly let reality in and questioned quietly, "Any sign yet?"

Trixie rested comfortably within the circle of his arms. It never occurred to her to leave. Her hands came to land lightly on his shoulders while she edged in closer. Whispering softly, she answered, "No, not yet. I haven't seen Ritch since the lobby this morning." It was true. An annoyed breath huffed out, taking a little shine off their moment.

"Okay." He reached up, took a coin from the cup, and absently rolled it between his fingers, all the while holding onto her waist with his other hand. "What do you think we should do now? Stay here or…?"

Running a finger along the edge of his collar in a lover-like motion, she leaned in again, taking a few seconds to ponder their next move, before saying, "We've put in a good showing here, Jim. I think we've done enough. If Mr. Young wanted to contact us here, he already would have done so. Let's head out and try that bar. _The Crown Vic_? It's where we first met Ritch, if you remember."

"Yeah. I think I remember." Jim's lips twitched. He doubted if he'd ever be able to forget the unexpected sight of Trixie in that bar. The biggest, and possibly the very best, surprise of his life. A startling revelation. He swallowed back a sharp gasp and looked out over her head, unseeing, completely oblivious to the sights and sounds of the gamblers around them, of the whirl of buzzes and flashes of lights, while the strength of that one realization began to grow and flourish.

"I thought you might remember." Blonde curls bounced with the shake of her head. Well aware of the memory coming back at him, she would have been shocked by how it had sidetracked him in such an unexpected way. Thinking back on their rather inauspicious start to her Las Vegas mission, she was stunned that she could find the memory humorous now. She certainly hadn't at the time. "Maybe we'll get contacted there."

"What?" he asked, her words bringing himself back to reality, or what passed for their reality of the moment, with an unwelcome jerk.

She lightly tapped his nose, giggling at him. "I said," she repeated, speaking slowly so he could be sure to hear her words, "maybe we'll get contacted there, at the bar."

Now that his brain wasn't fogged with memories of her, he could admit that the idea had merit. Of course, anything would sound good when it was whispered in a raspy tone, with her hand resting on his forearm, her fingers clutching his shoulder, and her hair tickling his chin. At the moment, he'd agree to just about anything she wanted. He considered himself lucky that she didn't realize the extent of power she held over him. If she ever figured it out…he didn't finish the thought. Clearing his throat, he inquired, "So…we're done with gambling?"

"Yeah." Trixie threw back her head. Her body moved in even closer against his and she gifted him with a glamorous smile. "The bar would be a great place to relax. We can have a few drinks, sample a few appetizers and, if no one tries to get in contact with us there…" Her voice went a little deeper. That pink in her cheeks turned a more vivid red. Unable to look at him directly, she got out hurriedly, her words breathless, "Well, I vote for a return to our suite."

_Our suite._ How he loved the sound of those words tripping off her lips. He wouldn't mind missing out on the bar altogether. Their suite was the most appealing destination to him. Leaning down, he pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. Wondering where this incredible urge to be playful with her came from, he questioned hopefully, "Can we, ah, skip the bar?"

It took a full second for her to respond. Then delighted laughter spilled and trilled out. "I'd love to. But…" She smiled apologetically up at him.

"We've got to try." Jim reached out, tucked back an errant curl. When she turned her head into his touch, he gently traced the sharp line of her cheekbone. "Time limit?"

A simple touch from him had the power to drive her to the edge of sanity. Trixie inhaled sharply, took her time with the exhale, and answered with what she hoped was a relatively normal-sounding voice, "An hour ought to do it. If we still haven't made contact, then I think we can head back to the suite. It wouldn't look out of character for us to do that. There's always the chance he's waiting to talk to us when we're in a private setting." Slim, she knew, but a definite possibility. There was no guarantee he'd contact them out in public. It was more of an assumption on her part. She shrugged a resigned shoulder. "We'll have to take it as it comes."

His hand slipped slowly off her hip, went down her thigh, to end up at her hand again where his fingers laced together with hers. "All right. An hour in the bar. It shouldn't be so bad. But..." He moved closer, caged her in against the slot machine. "The timer starts right now."

"Oh, definitely," she murmured and dropped her head on his chest. Her next word came out smothered. "Definitely."

The double definitely made him chuckle. A large hand shot up, cradled her blonde head to his chest. Grateful for the simplicity of the moment, he whispered, "The bar, then?"

She nodded. "Let's go." Trixie reached down, grabbed her purse and offered him her cup of coins with a pleadingly feminine sort of a look. Not a word was needed. He accepted the cup, strode over and easily converted the mound of quarters inside into sensible dollar bills. She happily took the bills back from him, slipped them into her clutch purse and tucked her arm through his elbow. Together, the two strolled out of the casino, meandering their way down the long and spacious hallway.

Being so near him, their steps in perfect sync, made her feel lighter than she'd felt in a long time. Happiness she couldn't quite contain bloomed across and over her, made her almost light-headed with its giddy and glorious feel. It was impossible to remember the last time she felt like this, so…dare she even think it…so complete. Jim's voice as he discussed the possible choices for appetizers in the bar didn't sink in. Instead, she concentrated on the simple wonderfulness of being with him.

"It looks like the bar is a hotbed of activity this afternoon," Jim noted as they turned the corner in the hallway. He came to a complete stop and surveyed the group milling about. A large and loud crowd of excited and boisterous tourists who were most likely enjoying their first trip to Las Vegas were grouped in front of the bar, taking up most of the space. Their voices were raised in excited chatter, the kind that only Vegas could create.

Her eyebrows drew together. Trixie crossed her arms over her chest and studied the scene. It looked like a tour bus had driven up to the entrance of the bar and released every single one of its passengers in this one spot. Her purse swung lightly from her fingers while she contemplated the mass of people and quickly catalogued them. None of them appeared to belong to Mr. Young's entourage of employees. A second glance confirmed her suspicions. "Are we really certain that we want to brave the bar?" she wondered aloud, almost meaning it.

Because he knew she wasn't serious…at least, not completely serious, Jim leaned forward, brushed a quick and comforting kiss by her forehead. "Stay behind me. I'll lead." He squeezed her hand before letting go. Then he started forward, cutting through the throng of guests with the unlikely grace of a professional linebacker, Trixie only a step or two behind him.

Trixie kept close, weaving in and out of the group, an acquiescent follower to his wake. She'd almost made it to the front entrance of the bar when one of the excited tourists threw his arms out to the side at the exact moment she strode past him and hit her elbow. Not expecting it, she let out a startled yelp which was quickly swallowed up by the overwhelming din around her. Her purse slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. Teetering on her heels, she nearly followed its downward path. Trixie reached out blindly, caught the sturdy wall and used it to steady herself. She glared after the offending patron, who, in her opinion, rudely continued on with his conversation with his business associates and didn't offer her a single apology or assistance with the spilled contents of her purse.

Her purse! She glanced down, saw her possessions scattered haphazardly on the carpet. Swearing lightly under her breath, she attempted the impossible. Crouching down in a tight leather skirt and tall boots took some effort. After a concentrated effort, she finally made it. The first thing she recovered was the invaluable cosmetics case. Grateful it was still intact and hadn't released or revealed its tiny little secret, she quickly dropped it back into her purse, grumbling about rude and obnoxious tourists the entire way. Next, she checked for her gun, and breathed yet another sigh of silent relief after finding it still concealed, cheerfully residing within the silky lining. With her most important items accounted for, Trixie made the move to collect everything else while the group of tourists continued to mill around her. The bright pink of her cell called out next. She reached for it. She never noticed the dark shadow that intermingled with hers.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Seventeen

_Right about the time Trixie finally won at her slot machine…_

A charming grin on his lips, Dan sent an interested glance around the luxurious hotel lobby, contemplating the past two days. Hectic, busy and full of travel that, at the time, seemed to have had no apparent end in sight. Now that he was at his final destination, he was able to admit with some cheer that the annoyances of traveling had all been worth it. He could hardly believe it. With his assignment taken care of, he was left with eight full days off before he needed to report back to work in NYC. All because he'd been willing to give up his free time and deliver a packet of precious information across country in person. Since managing to actually have two days off in a row was sometimes not possible, was practically impossible, he was damn well going to make the best of his extra free time. Surprising his good friend in Las Vegas seemed like the perfect idea. Inspired, even. Not only would he be able to enjoy the famous city, he would also hopefully be able yank Jim out of his suite, where he imagined his friend was spending the major portion of his forced vacation, alone and buried in work while the splendors of Sin City swirled on without him.

Thoughts of his friend made him pull out his cell. The grin slipped off his lips, to be replaced with a scowl. No new texts. No new voicemails. No missed calls. Nothing. Jim, it seemed, didn't rely on technology any longer for communication. There wasn't a single answer to any of the text messages he'd sent out recently. Granted, he'd only been trying to get in touch with him for the past twenty-four hours but, still…Dan shook his head, baffled. To add further insult to injury, his good friend Frayne hadn't deigned to reply to the voice message he left earlier in the morning, either. It was perplexing. Out of all the Bob-Whites, Jim was always the most prompt, the most reliable, in returning messages. He never let a significant amount of time elapse before replying. Even Brian, with his hectic schedule through med school and the odd hours he often carried at the hospital, wasn't as reliable as Jim. He stuffed his cell back in his pocket and sent one last eagle-eyed look around the lobby of the gorgeous hotel. Here he was, in the bright, beautiful and amazing city of Las Vegas, and unable to get in contact with the one friend he knew to be in residence.

"It wouldn't be too hard for him to just check his damn cell now, would it?" Dan grumbled under his breath and grabbed his old, beat-up carry-on bag. It was the only piece of luggage he'd brought with him for the trip. When he traveled, he always traveled light. His scowl deepened until it was more of a glower. "Then I'd at least know he was really here, for crying out loud."

Dan turned away from the lobby, where the overly chirpy receptionist had sworn up and down that they did not have a James Frayne registered with them. Deep lines settled on his forehead. "Great. Just great," he grumbled, starting to think his sudden thought of bursting in on Jim's vacation may not have been one of his best ideas.

His feet brought him down the long and spacious hallway leading away from the lobby and deeper into the hotel and the many amenities it offered. A swagger to his step, he sauntered away, puzzling out what to do next. Possible salvation came in the thought of a honey-haired beauty. He stopped, considered, and nodded. Honey would know. He typed out a quick text, hoping to confirm exactly where Jim was staying. Then he put away his cell for the second time in the last five minutes. Feeling more confident, he picked up the pace while his dark eyes gleefully checked out the feminine variety that the hotel had to offer. And there were no shortage of women, not here, not in the hotel. When he felt the power of an interested stare aimed in his direction, he turned, looked, flashed his trademark grin. Two girls who obviously hadn't made it very far into their twenties let loose with twin shriekish sorts of giggles, the kind that only dogs could hear, and made the muscles in his shoulders start to tense up. He offered them a wink before moving on.

Chuckling under his breath, he continued on without an apparent care in the world. "At least I'm not on a time constraint," he said to himself, able to appreciate the simple fact. For once, he was going to be able to enjoy some time off…without any sudden, urgent calls from his supervisor.

Lost in thought, he turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt. A large group of guests, hotel or not, were gathered in front of the opening of what promised to be a very popular spot. A bar, maybe, or a restaurant. He couldn't tell from his vantage point. Since he tended to avoid large gatherings whenever possible, he followed his normal avenue. He started to fade back into the background, believing it would be much better to head in the opposite direction, away from the crowd.

A motion out of the corner of his eyes stopped him cold. He saw the man bump into a blonde…most likely a pretty blonde, although he couldn't see her face, just her back…and watched as the woman teetered clumsily on her heels and nearly fell before righting herself with the aid of the wall. Her purse did fall. He watched it hit the ground, imagined the insistent _plop_ it would make although he couldn't hear it over the murmured noise of the many voices clamoring around them. Everything inside the handbag immediately scattered on the carpet, right at her feet. The man didn't even stop to help the lady regain her balance or assist her in picking her things up. "Rude," he mumbled, frowning after the man who walked away without acknowledging the woman and stopped a good eight feet away, to carry on his conversation with his group of acquaintances, who also didn't attempt to help the woman.

Dan considered his options for only a single moment. Braving the crowd, he started forward, weaving his way in, out, and through the clamorous, cackling conglomeration crowd with apparent ease. His curiosity grew about the blonde while he wondered if her face matched the rest of her. As a connoisseur of women, he imagined it more than did. At least she'd be able to take his mind off his apparently invisible friend, he thought with a wolfish sort of a grin that he immediately wiped off his face.

Dan didn't stop until he was an arms-length away. He stared down at the bent head. Spiraling curls were all he could see. Blonde, shot through with golden highlights that either came from a bottle or from the sun. Judging from the tanned shoulders, he'd lay money down on the sun. She wore a silky black top, one which offered a tantalizing amount of cleavage that he more than appreciated. The outline of curvy hips were made even more prominent by leather. Red leather. One lone eyebrow arched. Yeah, definitely worth pursuing. He pinned an appropriately helpful expression on his face, all the while wondering what kind of face would complete the entire package, and knelt down beside her. Their shadows intermingled.

He almost laughed at the black and purple zebra-striped clutch purse laying at his feet but held his amusement back, unsure if the woman would appreciate it or not. He picked it up, offered it over, and declared lowly, deciding to treat her like the classic damsel in distress and see where things went from there, "I saw what happened. That man was unbelievably rude. You're lucky he didn't try to steal anything from you while he was at it." He sat back on his heels, not wanting to crowd the lady, and waited for her response.

The pink cell dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers, to land back on the plush carpeting of the floor with a plop he didn't have to imagine this time. Bright blue eyes grew both in size and in startlement while she briefly contemplated what sort of unlucky star she'd had the misfortune to be born under. One, she could understand…maybe. But two? Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her head. It took a superhuman effort but she turned her body until she could stare directly at the man handing over her slim purse. She watched the shock slowly register over him; she couldn't miss it. After all, it had to be the same expression that was currently smeared across her face.

All of his polished moves dissipated. He ended up gawking at her. "Trixie?" The question shot out of his mouth, even as the sight before him answered it. His hand snapped out, grabbed her arm, almost as if he needed the feel to know that she was really there besides him. Staring down into the big blue eyes he knew as well as his own, he cursed lightly, completely overlooking the fact that he'd been planning out the best course to hit on one of his best friends. "Holy hell. Holy freaking hell. Trixie. It really is you. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ahh…" Her mouth gaped open. Her brain was currently in shut down mode. It absolutely refused to supply her with any type of an answer, acceptable or otherwise. All she could see was his familiar face looming next to hers. Her palms started to sweat while she desperately strove for something else besides inarticulation. Obviously, she wasn't trying hard enough. She wasn't anywhere near anything that could remotely be termed successful.

A smile spread across his handsome face as the shock slowly faded away. He leaned in closer. "I expected Jim," Dan continued blithely on, completely unaware that her state of astonishment was much more damaging and debilitating than his. "After all, I already know that he's here. Well, let me correct that. I think he's here, in this hotel. I have a text in to Honey to confirm it since the receptionist couldn't find any reservations for one James Frayne when I talked to her a few minutes ago. I sent him a few text messages over the past twenty-four hours to tell him I was stopping by for a visit. I also called him earlier this morning. He hasn't responded back, though. Have you seen him? He's in Vegas, too, in case you didn't know." Craning his neck, he scanned the area.

"Ahh…" Again, words were beyond her. Absolutely, positively beyond her. At the moment, she seemed only to possess the ability to blink. Thinking required too much effort.

He granted her a quizzical look. "You know, I'm not sure how to take either one of your answers," he said, half-serious, half-joking. Dan flicked back a piece of dark hair, idly thought that he really needed to get that damn haircut, and picked up the rest of her things from the floor since she didn't seem to have any inclination to do that herself. He offered them over to her. When she didn't take them, only continued to blink stupidly at him like she'd never seen another living, breathing human being before, he grabbed her purse from her hands and stuffed them inside himself. He helped stand her back up on the thin stems of her heels and gave her a quick hug, one that wasn't exactly enthusiastically returned and dropped back. Rocking on his heels, he inquired, "So, when exactly did you get here?"

"Wednesday." She had to practically force the single word out of her mouth, was seriously impressed with her ability to follow it up with a sentence that wasn't only complete. It was also coherent. "I got here on Wednesday."

"Wonderful." Dan beamed at her, filing away the information. If memory served him right, Wednesday was also the day that Jim arrived in Vegas. However, it completely slipped his mind that he'd talked to her on the phone a few days ago, on Wednesday to be exact. He also forgot that she'd told him she was just starting her latest mission. He looked around the large area, overlooking the connection. "I've never made it to Vegas before. I took the chance when it came up a few days ago. Are you enjoying your time here?"

Fingers played with the strap of her purse. Nervously. Now that the surprise was thankfully abating, the need to get herself back on a serious and professional track was of extreme importance. Taking stock of her surroundings was the perfect way. Noticing the amount of people standing around them, all who thankfully did not seem to be watching or eavesdropping, Trixie took a small step back from Dan. Distance. She needed to put distance between them. Immediately. "Yes," she answered, looking furtively from side to side, hoping, praying, wishing that no one else was witnessing their conversation. Luckily, no one stood out in her quick perusal but she couldn't be certain. And if it was being taped…she barely swallowed back a disgruntled groan.

That eerie, somewhat quizzical feeling from a few minutes earlier returned; started to grow into something much more. He finally took the time to look at her, to really look at her. Make-up, slinky red leather, and sexy boots. Definitely not the attire Trixie Belden normally wore. Yeah, something was definitely not adding up. Dark eyebrows shot up in perfect tandem with his own suspicions. "You're certainly looking… unusual," he concluded, studying her suspiciously.

The ability to think was coming in extremely small doses but it was returning. She could be grateful for minor miracles. Trixie shouldered her purse, only blushing slightly when Dan's eyes continued to rake over her and the outfit he obviously found odd. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and chose her next words carefully. "You, out of everyone, should understand why," she stated softly, quietly, and met his look with a pointed one of her own. It was the closest she could come to offering an explanation, especially within the public domain.

Crystal clear. It was Dan's turn to become inarticulate. A short, coarse, and quite ugly four-letter word burst past his lip while he moved away from her. "Did I ruin it?" he mumbled, barely resisting the urge to look over his shoulder for any potential witnesses.

"No. I don't think so. But…" Because she didn't know if anyone of importance had witnessed their little scene, or that little embrace he'd given her, or the annoying fact that he'd called her by her first name, or that he'd asked about Jim, or that he'd brought up Honey's name…Oh, damn. The list went on, much longer than she wanted it to. With shoulders squared, Trixie gave him the most disdainful look she could muster and pushed back a stubborn strand of hair with her left hand. The game was back on. And she needed to get away from him as fast as she could manage it.

"Stay away," Dan finished for her. He couldn't miss the rock residing on her left ring finger. He watched her sharply while she pivoted away and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Will do," he muttered, unaware if she heard him or not.

At that moment the person he'd been searching for broke back through the line of tourists, who were seemingly more than content to graze in the hallway like livestock in a grass-filled pasture, discussing the many and varied options Vegas offered, and didn't appear to want to start moving towards any one of them. Dan saw Jim approach them first. He watched in almost morbid fascination as his friend drew up alongside Trixie.

"Trix? Where'd you go? I got us a table inside. What's keeping…" Jim stopped when he got a close look at her face. Instantly concerned, he lifted his head, and did a comical double-take when he saw that Dan stood a mere five feet away from her.

Out of necessity, Trixie immediately took control of the situation. She moved quickly. She tucked her hand through Jim's, pulled him around so he couldn't look at Dan any longer. Competently, she strolled away with barely a backward glance, acting as if she didn't have a single care in the entire world. With a loud and shrill voice, she complained, "Seriously, you'll never be able to believe it. Some rude tourist practically ran me over, Jim. Really, he bumped into me, made me spill my purse. Everything fell out. I've just finished picking up all the stuff." She made a half-hearted gesture back to Dan, doing her best to ignore him although she could feel his dark-eyed gaze searing a hole through the thin material of her shirt. "That man over there stopped to help but I got away from him."

_That man_. Not Dan. _That man_. Those two words told Jim more than the batting of her anxious blue eyes what he should do next. He didn't question her. He walked away with Trixie gripping his hand. Tightly. Neither was conscious of the fact that they were completely ignoring the bar or the table Jim had recently reserved for them. Their pace was much quicker than it had been before. His voice was hoarse. "I understand."

"I'm glad one of us does," Trixie muttered through a brittle smile. It felt like her face might shatter into tiny shredded pieces. She blindly led the way, ignoring the people they passed, much more interested in getting back to their suite now than in seeking out Mr. Young or one of his employees. In fact, the desire to get to the safety their suite promised was overwhelming. Her mind was busy, whirling faster than the wheels of a high-powered racecar with many possible scenarios. Was that little scene devastating to their mission or could they continue on? This was one time she truly didn't know the answer.

Jim with his long legs had to lengthen his strides to keep up with her rigorous pace. He had a million and one questions right now but her determined steps served as a huge deterrent. Only one question seemed pertinent enough, or maybe safe enough, to ask. "Where are we going?" Jim wondered as they came to a stop by the elevators.

"Our room," she answered without looking at him. She was completely focused on watching the numbers as the elevator started its descent. One foot started to tap out a tattoo muffled by the carpeting. "Now. There's been a change in plans. We've got to get to our suite."

The sense of urgency radiated off her in tangible waves he could almost see. An internal debate warred within him. Should he tell her or not? As much as he didn't want to, he had to. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable. A long low sigh escaped. She'd want to know, even if he was afraid he was only going to make matters worse. Leaning in, he brushed back a curl and whispered near her ear, "Trix, there's something else you need to know. Ritch was there, in the bar. He was standing by the hostess table. He talked to me, offered to get us a table if we wanted it. I took him up on his offer. I don't know if he saw anything outside the bar but…"

A line of tension settled between her shoulder blades, making her feel like there was an industrial strength rubber band stretching tautly between them. "Oh. Damn," she mumbled, frustrated with the entire situation. Yet again, she'd missed out on something important. Her much-needed edge was fast becoming obsolete. She hadn't known Ritch was anywhere near the vicinity. She should have. Her hand fumbled for his as she closed her eyes in weary resignation, pathetically grateful for the strength the contact gave her. "Don't talk about it now, Jim. Wait until we're in our room," she advised haltingly. "It can wait until then."

Together, they walked into the thankfully empty elevator. The doors whooshed closed. He watched her pull out her cell, scan the place, and inquired, "Are we safe?"

Dumbly, she nodded. Trixie leaned against the wall, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, suddenly feeling unbearably tired. Thirty minutes ago she had been highly anticipating the ride up to their suite. Now…there wasn't anything for her to anticipate. Couldn't be, not with the latest debacle to befall her mission. She hated the pleading tone to her voice as she said, "This isn't happening. Tell me, Jim. Please. Tell me this is not happening."

He never liked it when she looked defeated. He traced the edge of her cheekbone with the pad of his finger and was rewarded with a tiny smile. "Well, now I know how you felt when I forced myself onto the scene a few days ago," Jim tried to joke but his effort fell flat.

"This is so much worse." She ran a restless hand through her hair. The sparkling clips pinning her curls away from her face slipped to the ground, unnoticed.

"What's going to happen next?" Jim wondered into the silence.

"We'll get upstairs, plan out our next move or if we even have a next one. We also need to talk to Dan…" Her voice trailed off. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about him. With Dan's safety uppermost in her mind, she sent a quick text to Max. In no uncertain words she ordered him to find Dan, get him, and make him disappear as quickly as possible.

"It'll be fine," he tried to assure her. After she gave a negative shake of her head, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. The tautness surprised him. "It will be fine," he repeated stronger than before. "Nothing bad happened. Not really. All you did was talk to Dan. That's not bad."

Her eyes snapped to his. So many emotions were swirling through them; he couldn't identify them all. "Soon," was the only answer she offered. It was with a different kind of desire that caused her to inwardly urge the elevator to get to their floor, and fast. She watched the flashing numbers impatiently and didn't offer up another word.

Jim took his cue from her. He kept his arm around her at the same time he kept all his questions to himself. The silence grew with each passing floor number. Because he couldn't say anything to solve their current dilemma, he rested his hand at her lower back, hoping the contact would help, if nothing else. With a small gasp, Trixie laid her head on his shoulder, her blonde curls billowing softly around his chest. For one blissful moment she felt at peace.

When the elevator finally reached their floor, her tranquil demeanor vanished like morning dew under a sultry hot summer sun. Instantly, she was once again moving in fast gear. Trixie pulled back quickly and was the first one off. Forcing that self-same smile to her face that felt decidedly unnatural, she declared in overly-bright tones, "Can you believe that we won again in the casino? I'm telling you, Jim. We're doing so good here that they're going to start banning us from that place. See if they don't." She turned around, walked a few skipping steps backwards, her laughter bouncing off the walls, and yet her eyes were lit with a panicky light to them that he couldn't miss…and didn't like.

Her façade was good; stellar even. Only a person who knew the true Trixie could have seen through it. And Jim more than knew her. Understanding their need to continue their charade, he listened to her prattle on and on, well aware of the fact that she was carrying on a nonsensical conversation for the sake of anyone who could possibly be watching over them. The hall was empty but he knew she didn't like taking chances of any kind. After opening the door, he ushered her into their suite.

The second the door closed, Trixie leaned against it. She reached behind, automatically locked the door, and barely resisted the urge to slide down it, to sit down on the floor while the current situation resolved itself without any thought or effort on her part. Because she didn't have that luxury, she took a deep breath. It took an effort but she pushed herself away from the door. The next thing she did was complete the obligatory scan. Once again, they were safe. She dropped her cell on the nearest table.

He watched her closely, didn't miss a step as she dropped her purse on the floor and proceeded to wear down a path in the expensive and luxurious carpeting on the floor. His earlier question rose up, fresh in his mind. He voiced it without a moment's hesitation. "Why is Dan's presence so much worse than mine? You've got to tell me, Trix. I don't understand why having him show up is so bad."

She lifted her head, stared directly at him. Now that they were alone and safe, she could give her emotions free reign. Fear was painted vividly across her face. "We've convinced Mr. Young that we're a happy, committed couple. You know we have. That's the type of people he wants to deal with, what we've presented ourselves to be. With this insertion of Dan…I don't know how he's going to take it. He could be suspicious, especially if that damn Ritch saw or heard anything, or if they watch the surveillance tapes." She shivered a little, remembering how Dan called her by her name, how he gave her a quick hug. If Ritch saw that…she didn't want to continue, didn't want to finish out that train of thought. One thing was certain about Mr. Young and, subsequentially, the people he employed. They did not take too kindly to insults or mistakes of any kind. If he started to suspect something was out of the ordinary from the image she and Jim were striving to maintain, he wouldn't be happy. Icy fingers of fear crawled up her back. Hoping she concealed her thoughts behind an impassive face, she added, "He could take it as a harmless flirtation on Dan's part. But, if he gets an audio of what Dan said to me…" She jerked her shoulder.

Whenever she made a move like that, he immediately classified it as defensive…or defeatist. Because he didn't like seeing either emotion on her, Jim didn't waste a minute. He crossed the floor, long legs eating up the carpet in great big strides, and engulfed her in his arms. So they weren't exactly having the conversation he thought they'd be having. So they weren't exactly doing what he'd imagined they'd be doing. At least she was in his arms. And he could help. "Trixie," he murmured, wanting to pacify, hoping to soothe. "It'll be fine. You'll see."

Appalled when tears suddenly sprang to her eyes, she blinked them back rapidly, absolutely refusing to give into the weakness or letting a single one fall. Her answer was muffled by his chest. "I hope so, Jim. I really do. This has the potential to be one hell of a disaster in the making."

"Don't worry, Trix. We'll get through it. Together." Jim rested his head against her soft and silky curls. "Just like we've been doing since this whole crazy thing started. It'll all work out. We'll make it happen."

"Hmm." Glad for the respite, she nuzzled in closer, her senses lulled by the gentleness of his touch. Just when she got completely comfortable, her cell let out an insistent and intrusive chirp. She groaned yet again and slipped away to answer it. Her newest text message flashed up at her. Simple and sweet. "Got him," she read aloud and blew out a relieved breath. At least Dan was safe and nowhere near any of Mr. Young's employees.

Because his hands felt empty without her, he thrust them into his pockets and slowly sank down onto the loveseat. "Dan's okay?"

She nodded. "They've got him. Thank goodness." Some color returned to her face. Her first worry was taken care of. Now they had to figure out what to do about the rest of the mess. All bases had to be covered, even if they weren't in any danger of being uncovered. It would help immensely if they were given some time to plan out their strategy, whether it was necessary or not. She crossed her fingers, hoping for the time.

Another shrill sound cut through the quiet of the room. This time, it was Jim's cell. Curious, she scampered across the room and sat down next to him while he pulled it out of his pocket, and flashed the screen at her. An unknown, local Las Vegas number flashed on the caller id. Oh, no. _No, no, no!_ A heated denial rang throughout her mind. Her expressive eyes doubled in size. Once again, time wasn't being a very good friend to her. "Mr. Young," she whispered and held out her hand for the phone, intending to take the call.

Jim disagreed with a curt shake of his head. "No. He's calling me. I've got to take it," he insisted, somehow knowing that the man on the other end wouldn't appreciate it if she answered the phone over him. He cleared his throat, almost chuckled as Trixie leaned in as close as possible so she could listen in on the entire conversation, and answered the phone with one simple word. "Hart."

"Hello, Hart." Minutes earlier Mr. Young had received a report that did not make him happy. He liked being happy. He did not like uncertainty. He definitely didn't like surprises. Was the one he'd had the displeasure of watching an unpleasant one or was it of no consequential importance? It bothered him that he couldn't tell. The video played back for the second time in beautiful, vivid color on his computer screen. He motioned for Ritch to zero in again on the two stars of the show. A beautiful blonde; a dark-haired, handsome unfamiliar man. All he had to go on was body language, facial expressions. Sounds weren't recorded. His frown darkened while he pondered why the hotel didn't offer better surveillance equipment. He had installed the best possible surveillance money could buy in his penthouse. It was a shame that the hotel didn't employ the same kind in their hallways. Really, he was going to have to speak to his good friend, the owner of the hotel, and very soon. His question was polite. The icy shards shooting from his eyes were not. "How are you?"

"Fine. We're fine," Jim answered, giving a careless shrug of his shoulder. She sat up on her knees, bustled her way in even closer, and laid a hand on his waist, anxiously chewing off the remaining lipstick from her bottom lip.

Twirling a monogrammed silver pen between his fingers, Mr. Young made eye contact with Ritch and lied without the tiniest bit of guilt, "I'm at _The Crown Vic_ right now, sitting at the table my good friend Ritch reserved for you. I believe we have some business to discuss. So, where exactly are you and that lovely fiancée of yours? I was hoping to meet you in the bar but…" He let the sentence trail off, wanting to see how Jim would respond.

"We ended up leaving. In fact, we made it back to our suite a few minutes ago," Jim replied with forced ease. He glanced down at Trixie. She was now gripping his free hand…hard, and had practically burrowed her way onto his lap. It was plain to see that she would much rather be fielding this call. He would have loved to have let her.

"Well, if we can't talk in the bar, that's fine. The cell phone is a wonderful invention." Mr. Young strolled over to his fully-stocked bar. Glass tinkled against glass as he pulled out a tumbler. Uncorking a bottle of his favorite red wine, he poured a generous amount and took a leisurely sip. The scene playing on the computer screen captured his attention again. He frowned. What the hell did it mean? And did it have anything to do with the odd little inconsistency Ritch shared with him earlier about their arrival times at the hotel? The clerk, Maria, had remembered the couple vividly; although she hadn't realized they were a couple at the time. A dime a dozen; one in a million had been her exact terms for them. Why had they arrived mere minutes apart from each other? There were now a few too many unanswered questions for him. It made him furious, especially when he'd nearly made up his mind to trust the couple. Years of practice helped him keep his frustrations out of his tone; made him sound pleasant, the antithesis to how he was feeling right now. "I'd like to know how you kept yourselves occupied today."

Jim looked at Trixie for confirmation before sharing, "Oh, we ate late breakfast and then stopped in at the casino."

"The casino. If memory serves me right, you had a lot of luck there the other day. How did you fare today?" He already knew. Mr. Young glanced down at the paper that had the amount of their winnings printed out on it in stark black and white.

"A bit." Jim hemmed and hawed, without telling the amount. "We're satisfied with our winnings."

Mr. Young let out a laugh. It sounded loud, was much too enthusiastic to be real. Inside, he was starting to seethe. How he hoped the two weren't playing him. If they were…he didn't finish the thought, merely offered a tumbler full of wine to a silent Ritch, and then downed the rest of his. "How about the slots? Did you try them out today?"

"I didn't. Slots aren't exactly my thing. Trixie did, though. She insisted on playing one of the old-timers. Her persistence finally paid off. She made herself a tidy little profit." He hoped his voice sounded smug enough, proud enough.

Mr. Young watched closely as Ritch cued up the scene for the third time from outside the _The Crown Vic,_ saw an unsuspecting Beatrix Johnson get bumped and jostled before an unknown man swooped down to come to her rescue. He focused in on them, watched the way the two interacted closely. Something was there…something. He could almost feel it. His eyes slanted with avid annoyance. The two knew each other. Somehow. If only he could hear what they were saying. "And now you're back in your room," he restated amiably, offering the chance for Jim to admit what had happened outside the bar.

Trixie sucked in a deep breath. Recognizing the ploy, knowing exactly what Mr. Young wanted Jim to bring up, she grabbed his arm and nodded her head vigorously, giving him permission to tell him more. "Simple and sweet," she whispered.

Jim understood. He watched her the entire time. "Yeah. You know we planned on visiting the bar. Something happened to change our minds, though."

Mr. Young's ears perked up. He sat back down onto his large, comfortable and expensive leather office chair and swiveled around in it. "Hmm," he murmured, encouraging the explanation without the aid of words.

"There was a whole bunch of people gathered outside the bar. Somewhere along the way, some stupid tourist bumped into my Trix while I was trying to get us a table. He nearly knocked her down." Jim rubbed his chin over the softness of blonde curls.

"Is she all right?" Mr. Young inquired, listening to the story before analyzing it from every direction.

"Of course. No harm done. Thank goodness. Her purse fell and everything spilled out. Nothing bad, though. No one tried to steal anything." Jim gave a short laugh. It even sounded hollow to him.

"I'm delighted our darling girl wasn't hurt." Mr. Young leaned in, watched as the stranger embraced Trixie, and felt his suspicions confirmed. He was definitely right. There was something there between the two of them. It was simply a matter of figuring out what it was. He did note that Johnson wasn't as enthusiastic about the greeting as the man was. Interesting. Suspicion glittered darkly in his eyes.

Crossing his fingers, Jim said with a sigh, "I wish I'd been there to help her. I was already in the bar, talking with Ritch. He offered to get us a table. I never knew until later that someone had practically bowled her over."

"I'm sure you would have helped." It seemed like the appropriate thing to say. He twirled his pen again. And waited for more.

At Trixie's nod of encouragement, Jim haltingly continued, "Well, then there was this guy." He ran an agitated hand through his hair, hoping he was handling it the right way, and said with a touch of a sneer, "He swooped in from out of nowhere, helped her pick up her stuff, and then had the audacity to try and hit on her. What an ass."

Mr. Young steepled his fingers, rested his chin on them, and heard what appeared to be honesty in the answer. Time would tell. "Hmm. I see. There's no telling what could happen here. This is Vegas, after all, but your Trixie strikes me as a woman who can handle herself."

"Yeah, she can. She rebuffed him, of course." Simple and sweet. Keep it simple and sweet. Jim didn't add anything else to the explanation. "Anyway, Trix wasn't in the mood for appetizers and drinks any longer. She was fed up with the crowd outside the bar and wanted to return to the privacy of our suite." Trixie kept the fingers of one hand crossed and prayed that Mr. Young was buying the explanation. If not…she didn't want to contemplate the consequences. "That's why we left. I couldn't tell her no."

"Good. Good." Mr. Young watched as Ritch hurriedly scanned through other surveillance tapes, trying to pinpoint the exact arrival time of the unknown man at _The Victoria_. They needed to find out all they could about this man and what kind of connection he had to Beatrix Johnson.

Jim closed his eyes. Hoping to get off the subject, he interjected the next part. "We're both glad you called. We were hoping to run into you today. Trixie's been rather anxious about our meeting. Do we have one for today?"

"Damn right we do." He nodded his head sagely. It was just a matter of what type of a meeting it was going to turn out to be. The jury was still out on it. Mr. Young could tell from Ritch's stony expression what kind of meeting he wanted it to be. "I was hoping to invite you in person but…this phone call will do nicely, too."

He felt Trixie stiffen next to him. Emerald collided with sapphire. "Invite us where?"

"My penthouse." Mr. Young liked the sound of it happening completely on his home turf. The place would be free, completely and entirely. His wife had plans with a set of close friends for the entire evening. He'd given the butler the evening off. They would be alone. Yeah, it was the perfect time to conduct business…of any kind.

"All right. Your penthouse." Jim watched Trixie's face turn two shades of white. She didn't like the place. He could tell. He felt her shift into him and draped a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Time?"

"I was thinking eight o'clock. Sharp. Tonight. We could indulge in a few cocktails, have a delicious dinner, and then get down to discussing some serious business." Mr. Young flipped his laptop closed. "How does that sound to you?"

Should have sounded nice and pleasant but there was a decided ominous overtone to his words. Jim waited a beat. With Trixie staring back at him, eyes huge and mouth open, he agreed, unable to look anywhere but at the ocean of blue staring back at him. At least they'd be in it together. "We'll be there."


	18. Chapter 18

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Eighteen

The sound of dead air could be as deafening as a cannon blast. In this case, even more so. Jim carefully pressed the little red button to terminate the call, placed the cell on the side table and turned to face his partner of the moment. He thought she looked as uncertain and shaken as he felt. One question was all he asked, yet it rang with the ultra seriousness of the moment. "What happens now?"

Trixie didn't waste a precious second. Although there wasn't much space between them, she burrowed her way through it, straight into his arms and only relaxed when she was cradled by him. She held on, the only way she could show him right now how proud she was of the way he'd handled the phone call. The light amount of cologne he'd applied earlier tickled her nose. She found it both tantalizing and tormenting and tried not to let it affect her senses. At least, not overly much. Instead, she focused on what he'd just done for her, for the mission. He'd fielded the phone call from Mr. Young well, as well as she could have done, had she been on the receiving end of it. Maybe even better. He'd acknowledged Dan's intrusion; hadn't overlooked it or pretend that it hadn't happened. He hadn't given it too much or too little attention. He'd been as smooth as possible.

As she rested against his chest, she contemplated the exchange. There were only two glaring problems. One, she hadn't been able to watch Mr. Young's face during the exchange. Two, she hadn't been able to hear the emotions, or lack thereof, coming through in the tone of his voice. Because of this, she was left with no clue about how he actually felt, what he was really thinking. Had Jim's explanation pacified him? Or was there something more sinister going on? There was no way to successfully predict what, if anything, he could be planning. The uncertainty ate away at her, making her question the need to go on with the mission. Now Jim wanted to know what happened next. He deserved to know. However, this was one of those moments when she honestly couldn't tell him. It seemed like the longer this mission went on, the more it spiraled out, beyond her control.

Taking a deep breath should have calmed her, should have given her more concentration. Not surprisingly, it didn't. The only thing that helped was snuggling in closer to him. When he tightened his hold on her, some of the tenseness disappeared. "You were wonderful," she declared, her voice muffled from the curve of his neck. This time, she gave in and let herself sniff. He smelled divine. "You really thought fast on your feet there, Jim. You did exactly what I would have done."

"It comes from years of watching you work," he whispered back. He wasn't being patronizing. It was true. He'd witnessed her in action often enough over the years. She was nothing if not amazing when working on a case. But it still felt good, unbelievably good, to have Trixie's approval. He looked down at the soft curls tickling his jawbone. They looked so soft, so inviting. It seemed like the most natural course of action was to rest his chin on top of her curls. Once he did, a nuzzle followed. "What do you think? Are we going to keep that meeting or not?"

"I need to talk it over with Max," she answered through half-closed lids and settled herself more firmly against him. This was one of those odd moments in her career where she couldn't fathom what the correct answer was. Professionally, if it was Max by her side, it would be an affirmative without a clouded doubt. Personally, with Jim involved and now potentially Dan…it was a whole new ballgame. She pressed a hand to her heart. Finally, it was starting to resume its normal pace. "Just like before, Max and I will have to weigh the pros and cons, see what feels right with all the evidence we have about Mr. Young."

"That makes sense." He idly twined a long curl around a finger. "What feels right to you?"

She let out a small expulsion of breath. As much as she hated to end their time together, she truly felt like calling it quits. "I can safely tell you that right now I want to pull up stakes, and fast. There are way too many people I care about involved in this whole fiasco now."

With her head buried into the crook of his neck, she couldn't see the way his face lit up with her words. He overlooked the fact that she wanted to end the case and concentrated on the second statement. She hadn't made a specific declaration. But she definitely cared. About him. It wasn't quite the passionate encounter he'd been expecting to share with her when they returned to their suite. In a way, it was much more powerful, if not as physically satisfying. He responded in kind, not exactly sharing the true depth of his feelings but letting her know there was more going on with him than she may already suspect. "There are a few too many people that I care about, too," he said, quietly paraphrasing her words.

Trixie's heart skipped a beat that was actually painful. With her head bowed even more, she pressed suddenly sweaty palms to her thighs. There was a sudden roaring in her ears, a sudden heat in her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut. How she wanted to question him further, to ask him that simple follow-up question and yet, and yet…"Umm…yeah," she mumbled inanely.

He pulled back to look down at her. God, he found her irresistible when she looked so damn unsure of herself. He tucked a finger under her chin, lifted her face up until he could see into it. "It'll work out," he tried to assure her, incorrectly reading her uncertainty. It didn't have anything to do with her case. "You know that. We'll make it work."

She couldn't find an answer. Really, what could she say? Here he was, offering to help her through yet another tough roadblock in what was turning out to be the most disastrous mission she'd ever had the pleasure of working on, while she was becoming more and more curious about his personal feelings for her and less and less interested in the success of the mission. There. She'd finally admitted it to herself. Damn but she was in some serious danger here. "We'll see," she settled on, the only phrase that seemed appropriate. She couldn't promise a success, not this time around, but she'd be damned before she'd admit to a failure.

He reached the end of the curl, watched it spring back into its normal spiraling mass, and made absolutely no move to pull away from her. They stayed on the loveseat, right next to each other, with barely an inch of space between them. Thoughts about their friend finally penetrated. He squeezed her shoulder and inquired, "When do you think Dan's going to get here?"

Trixie glanced at the connecting door. It was still closed. "If I know our Max, he'll take Dan on a very circuitous route through the hotel. It'll make it harder for someone to follow them. If there is anyone watching our room, a member of our back-up team will distract them. Either Max or Shane will already have scrambled the surveillance cameras too so that Dan's progress won't be able to be traced back to our hall. We haven't wanted to employ that handy little trick yet. You can't overuse a ploy like that."

"Not without someone getting suspicious," Jim inserted, wondering how the other P.I.'s would go about scrambling the surveillance cameras. It was yet another little tidbit about the whole case that didn't add up all the way.

"Exactly." Lips curved in response. It felt good to have Jim understand. "Anyway, Max would definitely deem today's outing important enough to require such an exercise in subterfuge. Once he's certain that no one is following them and that they can't be traced at all, he'll bring him into his suite, right next door to us. Then it will only be a manner of the turning of a doorknob and…" Trixie held out her hands. "Dan will be here."

He almost expected the door to open of its own accord from the intense way they were both staring it. "Did Dan say why he's in Vegas?"

"Not really. If he did, I didn't catch it." She aimed a tiny little apologetic smile his way. "I can't say that I paid one hundred percent attention to everything he said."

"Can't imagine why," he answered sarcastically before releasing a low rumble of laughter.

"Shock, you know. He took me by surprise. I don't think I actually heard anything Dan said until after he hugged me." She laughed, too. A little one but at least she was starting to see the humor in the situation. "I do seem to recall that he did mention that he's tried to get in touch with you, though, on your cell."

"What? Really?" Jim exclaimed in disbelief and jumped up. He grabbed his phone. A frown marred his face as he studied the screen. Two tiny icons grinned back at him, mockingly so. One for new texts; one for new voice mails. Swearing lightly under his breath, he called up the first of three new texts. They were all from the same New York number. "He tried, all right," he muttered, frustrated with himself for forgetting to check his cell. He flopped back down on the loveseat.

"What does it say?" Glad to have something else to think about, Trixie inched her way closer, curious about the messages.

"He sent the first one yesterday evening." Probably about the time she was relaxing in the large tub, most likely filled to overflowing with bubbles, but he chose not to mention that little fact. Too many teasingly tempting images for his male brain. At this moment, he needed all his mental facilities working in as perfect of an order as possible. With Trixie only a wisp of air away, he needed all the help he could get. After Trixie impatiently motioned with her hands for him to continue, he shook away his thoughts and read what Dan's first text said, "Got a job out here in your neck of the woods. See you. Soon."

She barely resisted the urge to close her eyes. She kept them on Jim instead. "Next one?" Carefully, she settled her legs underneath her and held her breath, waiting to find out what else Dan sent to Jim.

The second one came in a few hours later, right before eleven o'clock. He wondered why he hadn't heard the musical chime of the incoming message; figured they must have been making too much noise during the poker game. "Finished my delivery in Flagstaff. Calling it a night. Will be in LV sometime tomorrow. Look for me in the early PM." Jim shook his head.

Trixie swallowed a sigh. It was becoming clearer why Dan was out their way. "Dan must have completed some kind of a special assignment from the DEA," she murmured, slumping against the thick cushions of the loveseat. A disgruntled look crossed her face.

"That's my thought, too." He aimed a half-grin her way and perused the last of his texts. It had been sent around seven-thirty that morning, when they were both still fast asleep in the living room. It wasn't as family-friendly as the first two. Choosing to overlook the not-so-flattering terms Dan had repeatedly called him in the third one, he reworded it for her so that it would have an acceptable G-rating, "Don't you ever check your messages? I'd like a reply back sometime in the next millennium. If not, I'll just search you out. Later."

"He searched you out, all right." Trixie refused to sigh again. She picked up a frilly ornamental pillow, absently pulled at the golden tassles on the end of it, and looked back at him. "Didn't you say you had a new voice message too?"

"Yep. You're right." Without wasting another second, Jim pulled it up, listened to it. His eyes popped open at the coarseness of the message. Dan was very obviously frustrated with the lack of communication between them. He could turn the air blue if he believed the situation warranted it. It was rather impressive. He'd managed to toss in a few teasing lines, too. Jim deleted the message without a hint of regret and laid the phone on the table, all without offering an obviously interested Trixie a chance to listen in on it. Before she could question him, he hastily explained, "It's along the same lines, Trix. He wanted to let me know his plane landed and that he was on the way to the hotel. He was planning on crashing with me for the next few days until he had to go back to New York."

Dan's exact words? He'd crash but only if Jim didn't have a hot blonde stashed away in his room. Jim arched an eyebrow at the woman he was currently sharing the suite with. Blonde, without a doubt. Hot…oh, definitely. So much so that his mouth started to water just by looking at her. The sight of her could turn his brain into mush, whether she was in one of her revealing outfits or wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans. She was hot, she was blonde, and she was definitely stashed in his room. No doubt about it. Mangan wasn't crashing with them.

Unaware of Jim's preoccupation with her, Trixie dropped her head in her hands and grumbled, "I think he should be sent back to New York on the next available flight."

Jim was left staring down at her curls again, correctly inferring that she wanted Dan out of the picture. "You mentioned that you wanted to pull up stakes. So, where does that leave us?"

Slowly, she lifted her head, looked him square in the eye. "You know I wasn't exactly in favor of continuing the mission with you as my partner when Max proposed it a few days ago," she reminded him, blushing slightly in memory of her reaction. It hadn't been the most accepting. "You have to know that it's not because I didn't want to work with you, Jim. It's just that I didn't want to put you in any danger. At all. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I remember." He did, as well as the feeling of exhilaration he had over the thought that he may actually be able to spend time with her, and only her, an almost inconceivable event to have happen with the excessive amount of friends and family they shared. He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget the time they'd managed to spend together.

She forced her eyes to stay on his, a bright blue meeting an intense green. "Well, right now I don't have a very good feeling about our Mr. Young," she admitted seriously. "I'm not very pleased about the newest meeting. I don't think it's a good idea to have it taking place in his penthouse." Completely on his home turf, with his own security surrounding him. It didn't sound promising. She didn't like it. She didn't trust it. Not one little bit.

"And?" Jim prompted when she was silent for too long.

"And…" She didn't want to tell him that she felt like he could be in danger again. Instead she explained, her voice halting and slow, "I'm voting for an end to the mission. Right here. Right now." Unless Max pulled rank on her. Or, worse, pulled the Chief in. She kept her face impassive, knowing that her thoughts would be taken into consideration but, ultimately, Max or Chief Ogilvie could out-veto her. Again.

She would have been shocked to learn that the first person to veto her was sitting right next to her. An end to the mission was the last thing he wanted. Jim gave a vehement shake of his head. "I don't know what the problem is. So Dan talked to you and gave you a little hug. It's not a big deal."

"If that's all there was." Trixie slumped into the sectional. This time she did sigh. "Remember everything that happened, Jim. He called me by my first name. That's the sticking point. And he asked about you. Plus he brought up Honey, too." She pointed her finger at him for emphasis. "If Mr. Young knows all that and calls us on it…" She drew a line across her neck with her finger. "It could get ugly."

He had forgotten about that. Jim placed a hand high on the red leather decorating her thigh and squeezed reassuringly. "We'll take it one step at a time," he suggested. "Let your Max get Dan here and then…"

"We'll find out what happens next," Trixie finished for him, a bit breathlessly. The hand resting on her thigh was causing too many other feelings within her. Almost of its own accord, her body shifted, until her side was flush up against his. One thing was certain. Even if the mission was destined to be declared over, she wasn't going to let him walk away without finding out what exactly was being rekindled between them. "I'll try to be patient."

"It's not your forte, I know. Patience, I mean." His thumb started tracing circles on the leather. The circles started out small but got progressively bigger. Every so often he would leave the leather, come into contact with the silky hose on her legs. He found the contrasting textures immensely erotic. "But it'll be worth it."

Suddenly aware they were no longer discussing the mission and its unknown fate but something much more private and personal, Trixie sat up straighter. Her breath was raspy. "I know it will be." She took a deep breath, bravely opening up the door to their past. "Believe me. I remember."

Her answer shocked the hell out of him. His thumb stilled. His eyes darkened. His mouth dropped open before he remembered to snap it shut. "I remember, too," he replied, his voice silky soft and hinted with a tint of wonder. Since she was brave enough to bring it up, he couldn't help but respond in kind. "But I have faith that it's going to be even better than anything I can remember."

She couldn't mistake the hungry way he was staring at her. It was abundantly clear and such a contrast to the way he used to look at her. Her next breath lodged in her throat, making it difficult for her to breathe. Nearly impossible. She leaned in, her side pressing up against his, and lightly brushed a hand over his chest before curling her fingers into the soft material of his shirt. "So do I."

He couldn't wait. His hands dove into her hair, into the soft, rioting curls, holding her head exactly where he wanted it to be. Forgetting about the serious issues hanging over them, he bent down, took her lips with a passion that was barely banked, scarcely civilized. The second his mouth touched hers, she reacted in kind, just like flint hitting hard steel. They were quickly consumed, both reveling, enjoying and forgetting where they were and who would be arriving soon. The need each had for the other overrode everything else, no matter how important. Only the almost inaudible sound of a door handle beginning to turn brought them reluctantly back to the present.

Jim was the first to react. He cursed, scrubbed a hand over face, but left the other on her thigh…high on her thigh. He didn't realize how possessive it looked or what someone else would think when they noticed it there. He couldn't think of much more right now other than his own desires. Touching her was very high on his list. It was absolutely essential. "They've got terrible timing," he grumbled under his breath, glaring at the door as it started to open.

"Tell me about it." Trixie pushed back a strand of hair he'd mussed moments earlier with his wandering fingers but she didn't move. She should have. She should have stood. She should have faced the door. She should have been ready to meet her partner head-on. However, she couldn't call up the strength to do it. Not with the recent memory of Jim's lips pressed against hers. Not with the warmth of his hand resting against her thigh, radiating heat throughout her from the point of contact. Moving away was extremely low on her list of priorities.

Dan was the first one through the connecting door. "You're never going to believe it, guys," he declared the second he strolled through it, tossing a smile in the general direction of both of this friends. He didn't look closely at them, not yet. "I saw parts of this hotel I never knew existed. Hollywood, your pals are quite the tour guides."

"It's easier to go unnoticed if you stick to the unknown areas," Max explained, chuckling from behind. Once Dan realized who he was and that he was helping out, not kidnapping him, it had turned out to be a rather enjoyable meander back to the suite. Mangan had one hell of a sense of humor. About to make a comment to his partner about it, he sent a quick look at her. A dark eyebrow arched high. His partner's face was the same color as the strawberries in the still-life painting hanging on the wall. And the man who'd taken his place as her partner… Oh, they'd definitely interrupted something. He couldn't help but grin. It looked like the outfit was working.

Dan dropped his bag down on the sectional. He immediately followed suit, letting out a small groan as he situated himself on it and stretched out his long legs. "I've got to say I'm starting to have some serious regrets about my idea to invite myself along on your vacation," he said, aiming a serious glower in Jim's direction, obviously placing all the blame squarely at Jim's feet for the tenuous situation they found themselves in.

Jim's arm was comfortably wrapped around Trixie's waist. His leg was pressed tightly up against hers. And his hand…it was still splayed out along the smooth red of the leather. He hadn't moved it. He smiled, deciding to overlook the reproach. "My vacation hasn't exactly worked out the way I thought it would, either," he answered, the first words he'd spoken directly to Dan since he'd inserted himself into his Vegas vacation.

"I can see that," he murmured dryly, letting his gaze linger longer than necessary on his two friends while recalling the conversation he'd had with Max during the crazy journey back to the suite. He knew they were posing as a happily engaged couple in an effort to sell some undisclosed piece of merchandise to a certain someone named Mr. Young. What he didn't know was how convincing the two were in their roles. He'd been told to see for himself and come to his own conclusion. Now that he was safe within the confines of their home turf, he decided it was a terrific time to make his own observations. Onyx eyes raked over them, missing absolutely nothing. They certainly looked like a happily engaged couple, sitting as close as they possibly could get to each other. His grin turned roguish at the same moment Trixie's face became a unique shade of red he'd rarely ever seen her achieve before. But she held her ground even after she realized he was observing them and seeing much more than either of them wanted him to see or to notice. She didn't move away from Jim. She stayed her ground. In fact, he almost thought it looked like she shifted her body even more towards the silent redhead. In no time at all his eyes took on a very shrewd and perceptive gleam while the wheels in his mind starting spinning.

"Belden, the next time we go on a mission together, I swear to God, we are going to the other side of this earth." Max ran a hand through his hair, frustrated beyond belief with the entire disaster that was their mission. Joss was going to have a field day when he updated her on the newest development. He could already hear her sparkle of laughter. "Athens. Nepal. Siberia. I don't care. Just somewhere where you won't know half of the damn population and we can actually complete our mission in a respectable amount of time, without any of these godforsaken complications that keep popping up."

Giggling nervously, Trixie squeezed the hand of one of those 'godforsaken complications' and gingerly unfolded herself from the loveseat. She smoothed a hand over her skirt, tossed back her unruly mane of curls, and reminded him, hoping to appease, "You forget, Max. This is your last one."

Max's face shone with a momentary relief. "You're right. I guess I can be thankful for minor miracles, right?" He chuckled again when Trixie rolled her eyes. "So I guess I only have to get through this last one. Too bad it's such a doozy."

Since she was up, Dan stood and went straight for her. The second he reached her, he gave her a much-needed hug, one that she more than happily returned this time. "Sorry I interrupted your assignment, Hollywood," he whispered contritely, drawing back to look into her face. "At the time, I really had no idea. I was just happy to see you. Now, though, well…" He let out a huff of annoyance, completely directed at himself. "Looking back, I guess it was more apparent than I realized. I'd give anything to go back and change those past few minutes."

"I know, Dan. Don't worry about it. I completely understand." She hugged him again, to show that she didn't harbor any hard feelings towards him, and allowed a small smile to grace her face. "It's all right. I mean it. There's nothing for any of us to worry about. At least, I don't think there is. Jim covered for us." She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that Jim really had.

Max lifted his head. He stared at her, puzzled. His tone was suddenly serious, almost deadly so. "What do you mean, Belden?"

She turned out of Dan's embrace, tucked back a few messy curls and explained without hesitating, infusing as much strength and conviction into her voice as she could, "Mr. Young called Jim on his cell right after we made it back to the suite. Jim fielded the call beautifully."

"It's nice to know your cell actually works," Dan muttered in a sardonic aside to Jim, earning him an embarrassed glare from the tardy message recipient.

"Really, Dan. Now's not the time," Trixie chastised him with a frown before focusing again on Max. "Anyway, you and I need to talk, like right now. You see, it turns out that Mr. Young wants to meet with me and Jim. Tonight. At his penthouse."

All expression dropped off his face. Reaching behind, Max opened the connecting door and stepped back. "Fill me in now, Belden," he ordered and motioned for her to go first. Taking the time to look back at the two men remaining in the room, he ordered them, "Stay here. Don't open the front door for anyone, all right? Just pretend you're not here if someone were to knock, no matter who they say it is. If anything unusual were to happen, don't waste any time. Come over. The door's unlocked." Then he closed the door, leaving Dan and Jim alone.

Because he was suddenly very nervous, Dan started in the second they were alone, hiding his nerves and worry behind some mischievous mockery. "Jim Frayne. I'm disappointed in you. You really have to get better about checking your cell. I've never known you to miss messages before." He intentionally widened his eyes, going for innocent, and failing utterly.

"Sorry." Jim didn't sound contrite at all. He aimed a fierce scowl in Dan's direction. "I've been rather busy, you know."

Delighted with the answer, Dan clapped his friend on the shoulder and sauntered his way over to the bar where he pulled out a longneck, opened it with practiced ease, and slipped a lean hip onto a stool. Only then did he say, "I'm starting to understand just how busy you've been." After taking a long, fortifying sip, he added conversationally, "Here I was, flying in today from Flagstaff, wondering what exactly I'd find when I made it to Vegas and your hotel. I thought for sure I'd find you up in your room, working on some contract for your father or answering a bunch of emails. I never thought I'd find you out, about and actually…" Here he paused, let out a small gasp and exclaimed in a voice that could almost be termed sing-songy, "Socializing."

He contemplated the bar for only a minute. Giving in to the inevitable, Jim practically stomped his way over and accepted the same brand Dan was drinking. He opened it with a little less finesse than Dan had shown. His sip was much shorter and definitely not as fortifying but he had a feeling he was going to need the liquid before his friend was done with him. "That's pretty much what I'd expected to do after my mother and Honey suggested I take this vacation."

Dan swallowed back an artful tease, his first inclination. Instead, he lifted his bottle in salute and took his time to formulate the best response. Deciding a roundabout route would give him the most satisfaction and possibly the best answers, he offered with a smooth face, "Let me be the first to say that Vegas is suiting you very well, Frayne."

Direct hit. A flush started at his neck, then proceeded to work its way across his face. Jim tried to hide it with another hasty swallow but Dan's reflexes were too smart, too swift. He saw. "It's Hart right now," Jim mumbled into his bottle.

Understanding flashed quickly. "I see. Hart." Crossing one ankle over the other, Dan leaned an elbow against the bar and prepared to ferret out as much information as he could.

"Yeah. My mother always makes reservations for her and my dad when they travel under her maiden name of Hart. It's automatic. She did the same thing for me without thinking about it." Jim picked up a square, wooden coaster and absently started tracing the edges of it.

"Well, that explains a lot." Dan shook his head, having forgotten all about Madeleine Wheeler's habit when it came to traveling. "Given the strange set of circumstances, it's a good thing I didn't remember it. I had that pretty clerk downstairs check for a James Frayne when I first got here. She checked for me. Twice. Each time she told me she couldn't find anyone staying here under that name."

"She was right." It was yet another piece of information that could be unfortunate if Mr. Young discovered it. "No Jim Frayne. I'm known as James Hart right now."

"What about Trix? What name is she going by?" Dan questioned curiously.

"Beatrix Johnson," Jim answered without hesitating.

"Ah. Hart and Johnson." Dan rocked back on his heels, thoroughly amused and more entertained than he'd expected to be. He pondered the names for a moment before noting, "Sounds like an '80's television show."

Jim shook his head and nearly channeled Trixie. He almost sniffed. "Hardly."

Getting into the spirit, Dan waved his bottle through the air and explained, "Oh, I'm not too sure about that. It seems to me that this has the making of the kind of show where the main characters are brought together through some type of unexpected circumstances and are then expected to work together week after week to solve impossible crimes. We've got the secret agent and the corporate lawyer. Toss in a few missions, a few unsolved mysteries. And all the while they're fighting their growing attraction to each other." He patted his heart and gave a dramatic sigh. "The audience would have loved it."

The flush was back. Embarrassed, he mumbled something inarticulate into his bottle, didn't even think to question the secret agent phrase. This time, he tossed back a good bit of his beer, needing something stronger to combat Dan's annoying teasing.

Dan roared with laughter. In deference to years of their friendship, he gamely swallowed back another set of smart-ass remarks. He leaned forward, eager to hear more. "So, tell me. What happened in the pilot episode? How exactly did _Hart_ get hooked up with _Johnson _anyway? I have a feeling it's going to be good. Her actual partner Max was extremely hazy on the details as he led me through the hotel. Bare essentials are all I got."

"I ran into her in the bar downstairs," Jim said, staring down into the pretty amber liquid as if he could find an exit through the bottom of the bottle. "Wednesday. Shortly after I got here."

"And?" Dan prompted when Jim didn't continue.

"I saw her, went up to her, and talked to her." He didn't want to offer too much information, not when one Daniel Mangan looked ready to pounce on the tiniest morsel at any possible minute. He tried to offer up enough to pacify but not enough to roast himself in the bargain. A fine line, indeed. "All the while not realizing she wasn't normal Trixie, if you know what I mean." He wisely didn't mention how she was dressed or he felt when he noticed the extravagant ring sitting on her left ring finger. The maniacally grinning man next to him didn't need to know _that_. "Before she could send me on my way, the person she was supposed to meet approached us and mistook me for her fiancé."

"Mistaken identity. Good plot point," Dan murmured, picturing it perfectly in his mind. "So you stepped in."

"Didn't have much of a choice," Jim declared. He leaned against the bar, his half-finished bottle forgotten at his elbow. "I played the part. For her. Then, after we got back here, her real partner showed up and offered me the opportunity to stand in for him in an effort to salvage the case."

Which Jim would have been very eager to accept. Dan nodded sagely. "How did Trixie feel about the change in partners?"

"She wasn't exactly ecstatic," Jim shared, chuckling slightly. A vision of her stomping away from this very room floated through his mind. Yeah, she hadn't been happy. "At least, not at first. She's accepted it. I think," he tacked on quickly.

Judging from the fact she couldn't take her eyes off the redhead or keep her body away from him, Dan correctly surmised that she'd more than accepted it. "I've only been in Vegas for roughly…" He lifted his wrist, checked his watch. "Ninety minutes. Out of that hour and a half, I've spent approximately ten minutes of that time with the two of you."

Jim cocked his head to the side. "What of it?"

"She's more than accepted you as a replacement for her mission," Dan explained, choking back another laugh. He laid a strong hand on Jim's shoulder, squeezed. "Believe me."

Jim flushed again. "Maybe," he mumbled, always uncomfortable when discussing something of extreme emotional importance with someone else.

Both eyebrows lifted, sky-high. One hand waved through the air. "Wake up, Frayne. Smell the black coffee, the cappuccino with non-fat milk, or the decaf latte, whichever you feel is more politically correct at the moment."

Narrowed eyes went to battle with Dan's smirk. Not surprising, he lost. "You know, you could have stayed in Flagstaff," Jim muttered under his breath.

"I could have," Dan replied with a cheerfulness that was designed to be irritating. "But I didn't. And it is blatantly obvious that something big is going on between you and Trix. I mean, you couldn't have fit a toothpick between you when we came through that door over there." He jabbed a finger in the direction of the connecting door. "We interrupted something. You're the lousiest liar in the entire world so don't even attempt to deny it."

He picked up the discarded top of the beer bottle, absently rolled it between his fingers, and decided the best defense, in fact, the only defense, was to simply ignore the insinuations Dan was making. No matter how true they were, no matter how accurate, there was simply no way in hell he was going to discuss them, especially with Dan. He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't going to give Dan any sort of ammunition. "How'd you get up here anyway?"

The edge of one lip curled up. Close-mouthed, as always, especially when it came to his feelings about their curly-haired detective. Because there were definite sign that things were finally settling on the right side of the line for two of his best friends, Dan reluctantly let it drop and expounded on his interesting trip through the hotel. "Two men grabbed me in the hallway, pulled me into an elevator that's only used by the staff. As you can imagine, I was…rather belligerent over the whole thing."

"Who'd you hit?" Glad to be back on even footing and away from the edge of the perilous cliff named Beatrix Belden, Jim let the bottle top fall. It landed with a muted clatter on the gleaming countertop.

"Some guy named Shane." Dan's eyes danced with delight, pleased with himself in a purely male sort of a way. He'd landed a good one, too. The CDA agent's nose bled quite a bit from the force of the blow. "It took a few minutes before I realized who they were and what they were doing. Once I did, I became much more compliant."

"I can only imagine." Jim leaned back; arms spread out along the smoothness of the bar and chuckled. "Well, it's good to see you. You've definitely made the day more…um….lively, shall we say."

Dan pointed towards the connecting door. "You think I messed things up too badly for you and Hollywood?"

"She seems to think so." Jim brushed back the disappointment. It couldn't be changed now. Now it was merely a matter of waiting to find out what decision the two private investigators came up with. "We'll find out once she finishes clueing Max in on the newest developments."

He absently swirled the liquid in his bottle around. "Yeah. They cleared out of here awfully quick. Tell me more. I'm still rather hazy on all the details."

"Their target is a Mr. Young," Jim supplied, sharing what he knew. "He's a businessman of sorts, I guess. They've never actually told me what he does. Anyway, we're here to sell him a device that isn't on the market."

"Ahh," Dan put in, beginning to understand the mission more.

Jim glanced at him over the top of his bottle. "He doesn't trust easily and only works with people who've earned it. So, Trix and I've had to act like a happily engaged couple. We've been watched, followed, observed, followed again, and finally had a face-to-face meeting with him yesterday, at his penthouse."

"Why did he want to meet you up there?" The picture was becoming clearer by the second. Jim and Trixie, feigning an engagement. God, it must have felt like the unlikeliest combination of pure agony and sheer bliss to each of them. He felt grateful to have the opportunity to witness the two of them in action. Judging from the way the two were behaving around each other, it promised to be quite an interesting ride. It took an effort but Dan managed to keep the gleeful grin off his face.

Jim didn't have a clue how amusing Dan was finding the whole scenario. "Anyway, Mr. Young invited us to his place for lunch and a swim, not necessarily in that order. We met him, shared a glass of wine, had a nice little conversation. Soon after we changed for the pool, he left. Trix predicted his departure ahead of time. She believed that he wanted to have a chance to watch us some more."

Dan wondered if Jim realized how often he was calling her Trix or that his flush deepened each time he mentioned her. Probably not. After a few seconds of speculative silence, Dan invited, "Go ahead."

Lost in the potent memories of the kiss they'd shared in the waters of the pretty pool, Jim shook his head, keeping them at bay. The last thing he needed was for Dan to witness him mooning after Trixie. He'd never be able to live it down. "Before we left, Mr. Young told us he'd get in touch with us sometime during the day today. Trix wanted us to be visible so we spent a good portion of the morning out in the hotel, having breakfast and gambling in the casino." Because he could practically see Dan gearing up to poke a little fun at him, Jim squared his shoulders and declared, "And, yes, before you make one of your irritating little comments you're so damn good at, I actually played a few hands of poker. I won, too."

Dan couldn't help but chuckle. Jim knew him too well. It was awfully comforting to have friends who wouldn't let you get away with anything. Going for neutral, he called out, "Great! We'll have to play a few hands later. It'd be fun to play against you now that you have some real Las Vegas gambling experience behind you."

Jim didn't answer. There was no need to. "Anyway, you don't need me to give you a play-by-play. Unfortunately, you know what happened next. It precipitated our hasty departure from the bar. While we were waiting for you to show up here, Mr. Young called me. He set up a meeting for tonight. Now it's up to Trix and Max to decide if it's safe for us to keep it or not." He ended on a shrug.

"Don't worry. They'll make the right choice." Dan knocked back the rest of his beer, swiped a hand across his mouth, and tossed a lazy grin at Jim. "They always do, you know."

Jim was hoping for an affirmative. It surprised him how much he was. He didn't want the case to have an aborted ending. It wasn't because he wanted Trixie to keep her unblemished record. He was being selfish. He wanted more time with her. No, that wasn't all, he thought as he scowled down into his bottle. It was time to be completely honest with himself and with her. He wanted Trixie. Right here, right now. If the only way he could get her was to continue to play the part that had been assigned to him, then so be it. Not a big deal, all things considering. The scowl faded from his face. A wicked glint came into his eyes that had Dan nearly bobbling his empty bottle.

Astonished wasn't the word for it. Correctly deciphering Jim's expression, Dan reached into his back pocket and pulled out the worn leather wallet his uncle had given him soon after the judge agreed to let him stay in Sleepyside, all those years earlier. It was cracked and frayed but had held strong. He thumbed through it, found a little foil package, and slipped it across the counter. The action immediately conjured up memories of a long-ago prom night, when he'd supplied the couple with the exact same object. "Déjà vu, huh?"

Jim laughed. He turned bright red but he actually laughed and flicked the package back in Dan's direction. "No need. I'm much better prepared than I used to be," he stated, surprising Dan even further.

Dan nearly choked on his next breath of air. "O…kay," he mumbled, shocked by Jim's forthright attitude. Vegas, he was fast thinking, had caused one hell of a shift in Trixie's and Jim's relationship.

Unconcerned with the fact that Dan now knew exactly what he had in mind for one sinfully sexy blonde, Jim leaned back. He let silence surround them before smoothly changing the subject, "So, what are your plans now that you're here?"

Dan crossed one ankle over the author. "I was planning on staying with you. You'd know that if you bothered to check your messages," he couldn't resist adding.

"I did check them a few minutes ago," Jim said in his defense. He held up his cell to illustrate his point. "It turns out I was a little too late."

"You think?" Dan shot back with a sardonic shake of his head. "Anyway, that idea was vetoed during my crazy tour through the hotel. I was told by Max that I couldn't stay in this room. It seems I'll be hanging my hat in the room next door…if we even get to stay here any longer."

"If you're looking for a few good poker players, Max and Shane will probably take you on," he replied, his voice carefully controlled and neutral, wondering if the two cardsharks would be able to beat Dan.

"Good to know." Dan heaved a world-weary sigh. "It gets better."

"How?" Jim eyed him cautiously.

"I'm stuck over in that room, for however long the duration is." Disgusted, Dan threw up his hands. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He'd come to Vegas with the exact purpose in mind of saving Jim from becoming a willing captive of his hotel room. He'd never expected it to become his fate. Now here he was, in Sin City itself, and unable to appreciate any of its…assets. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. "I'm not allowed back out in the hotel. At all," he added fiercely, in case Jim didn't get the picture.

"You're under house arrest," he concluded, emerald eyes lighting up with barely concealed humor.

"Something like that." Dan let out a small grunt of annoyance. "It seems I'm doomed to spend the duration of my time here, no matter how short or how long the rest of our vacation is, stuck between these two rooms. They don't want me coming across any of those goons out there. Fun, huh?" He picked up a thin red stirrer from its holder and flung it across the room.

"The suites are very nice." Jim tried to put a good face on it, he really did, but it was awfully hard when he couldn't keep the thread of laughter out of his voice, the twitch away from his mouth. It was so damn satisfying to see Dan, the coolest, smoothest one of their group, be put into such a position. Penned in. It was going to bore him to death. A low chortle escaped before he valiantly swallowed back another.

"Go ahead and laugh," Dan grouched, slouching against the bar, and flinched when Jim did just that. "The sad thing is I've got no one to blame but myself. It's my own damn fault for approaching Trixie downstairs. If I'd been thinking I would have realized what was going on sooner. Stupid, so stupid."

Jim slowly reigned in his hilarity. He had to wipe away some moisture from under his eyes. "I know where you're coming from. I did the same thing when I first saw her."

"Yeah, well, you didn't know any better," Dan muttered lowly under his breath. "At least, not at that point. I did. Looking back, I'm kinda surprised our girl didn't pull out her gun and shoot me right there, right on the spot."

"She was mad enough to want to shoot me, too," Jim replied, his chuckles mixing with Dan's. "Or maybe Max for suggesting that I take over for him." Comfortable with the situation, he strolled over to the large window, looked out onto the breathtaking view of Las Vegas in all its afternoon splendor. Beautiful and blue with only a few harmless, puffy white clouds dotting the sky. A breathtaking sight. The only way to make it better would be if Trixie was standing right next to him, enjoying the view with him. "She got over her mad pretty quickly and accepted the situation. I think you'll be fine. You don't need to pull out the bullet-proof vests."

"Good thing. I didn't bring any with me," Dan joked. Absently, he started to peel the label off his bottle. "It's been a long time since you've helped her out on something like this. Have you liked working with her?"

Jim let the curtain fall back. He didn't turn to look, kept his gaze straight ahead. He didn't expound on his answer, only gave a quietly uttered, "Yes."

Dan's smile grew until it nearly swallowed up his entire face. Whistling an off-key nameless sort of a tune, he rocked back on his heels. Working under the understandable misconception that Jim understood the whole truth behind Trixie's actual occupation, he added, "It's been a little different, though, hasn't it? She's much more accomplished than the amateur detective we used to pal around with when we were teenagers."

"She's very good at what she does." The story of how she came by her scar swirled through his mind. She had to be very good to have survived something like that. He left his post by the window. His long legs brought him over to the entertainment center where he absently picked up the universal remote, contemplated the technological marvel that was the television set, and then put it back down again. There wasn't any use in putting the darn thing on, not for him. It wouldn't help the time pass by any faster. He glanced impatiently at the door. All he wanted was for Trixie to come back over.

"You can say that again." Firmly believing Jim knew everything, Dan walked over to the small refrigerator and pulled out a second bottle. Why not? He figured with a wry grin. It wasn't like he was going to be able to do much while in Vegas. House arrest was definitely an apt term. A little buzz might help the time go by just that much quicker and ease the boredom he was sure was going to start settling upon him at any moment. He popped off the top and inquired, "How'd you take it when you found out? I was a mixed-bag of emotions, myself. Were you good with it? You don't seem to be harboring any hard feelings right now."

"I'm just fine with everything," Jim replied, not really hearing the entirety of the question. He couldn't stop staring at the connecting door and was busy imagining the conversation occurring on the other side of it.

Bottle forgotten, Dan's head lifted, mouth gaping open. His reaction was vivid in his mind. When he found out the truth about Trixie's job, he'd practically dragged her away from their friends and family. Not exactly his smoothest move in history but he'd been assaulted by a ton of mismatched emotions. If he'd been that upset over the discovery, then it seemed entirely likely that Jim should have blown a gasket. A 'just fine' response didn't seem to fit. "Just fine, Frayne? Seriously? No problems? Nothing at all?"

"Why would there be any problems?" Jim stared at Dan like he'd suddenly started speaking a foreign language, completely confused by this line of questioning and where it was coming from. She was a private investigator, working on a case. Granted, it seemed to be an unusual kind of a case for a private investigator but that was Trixie for you. She was an unusual kind of a woman. "Trixie's always been great at what she does. The very best. I wouldn't expect anything less than that for her."

"Wow. I'm impressed. Good for you." Dan laid the bottle down, forgetting to partake of the liquid. "You've come a really long way here, Jim. So's Trixie. I can honestly tell you that I would've imagined your reaction to have been a little more…volatile, I guess." He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Fireworks, cannon blasts, that sort of thing. I never once thought that you'd be so calm about it all."

A frown wrinkled his forehead. Dan wasn't making much sense. Jim angled his head to the side, studied his friend closely. Slowly, he stated, "She's tops, Dan. We've always known it."

"She reached the top, all right." Dan finally took an extremely healthy swig, long fingers casually wrapping around his bottle. He gestured with it and added, "She makes all the rest of us in law enforcement look like we're pitiful peons or irrelevant lackeys."

If Dan had taken the time to really look at Jim, he would have seen the confusion, the bafflement, the perplexity that lent dark shadows to Jim's handsome features. It would have given him a clue to either slow down, do some serious back-tracking, or to just shut the hell up. But he didn't.

Confusion never sat well upon his strong shoulders. Jim chose not to say anything, coming to the quick conclusion that silence would help him more than a series of rapid-fire questions. He waited for Dan to continue while a sudden tightness seemed to appear out of nowhere to grab at his heart and an almost sickly sinking feeling asserted itself somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.

"It's cool to have someone else know, too. Beyond cool, if you ask me," Dan continued, his tone cheerful and entirely too merry. He closed his eyes, savoring the next long sip from the bottle. "I usually don't mind keeping secrets. In fact, I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself." He chuckled at the cocky statement, mentally patting himself on the back. Two months. He'd known Trixie's secret for two months and now Jim was in on it, too. "But, damn, Jim. This is one secret I've been simply dying to talk about with someone. However, I couldn't do it, as you very well now know." All of a sudden, his cell phone let out a bright chirp, interrupting them. Attention diverted, Dan checked on it, nodded at the new text from Honey, who confirmed the name of Jim's hotel and the name his room was reserved under. A quickly typed sentence also stated that she hoped her brother wasn't relegating himself to hermit status.

Know what? What secret was he talking about? The questions weren't spoken, were only thoughts in Jim's mind. Suddenly, all those little inconsistencies, all those odd little wonderings he'd been having, all those unasked questions he hadn't given voice to didn't seem so quirky, unusual or unimportant any longer. Obviously, Dan knew the answer, to all of them. As in the dark as he was, there was one simple truth that was easy to recognize. Whatever the answer was, he wasn't going to like it. It was as clear as the freckles residing on the back of his fisted hands. Jim sucked in a deep breath, braced himself as best he could even as he made a non-committal sort of a sound, hoping Dan would take it for assent and continue to share more of what he knew.

Dan did. After sending back a quick acknowledging text to Honey, assuring her that Jim was enjoying Vegas much more than either of them expected him to be and that he'd get in touch with her to tell her more later, he settled comfortably against the bar, a portrait of relaxed ease, completely unaware of what he was about to blow. "You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw that tattoo of hers in the kitchen. You remember that day, right? The day we had dinner with Honey and Brian, right before their wedding?"

Dan looked quickly at a silent Jim, saw his curt nod but not the lights of a barely banked temper starting to ignite within the deep emerald depths, and continued with a small shake of his head, "CDA. Can you believe it? It only happens to be the most secretive organization in the world. Our former amateur girl detective is now a full-fledged secret agent. As you said, she's reached the top, all right."

Just like that, everything finally fell into place. Trixie wasn't a private investigator. She didn't work for some little P.I. firm based out of San Diego. It actually began to make sense…a whole lot more sense to him. It clicked, so loudly he almost thought he could hear it. Everything came back, to poke, pry and sting at him like a hoard of angry buzzing bees. The gadgets and gizmos he'd seen and witnessed. The unusual piece of technology they were selling. The fact that her partner had been able to create a whole new persona for him, in practically the amount of time it took to blink a single eye. The case itself…which she referred to more often than not as a mission, not as a case. So many slips, so many tiny little mistakes, so many…and he'd missed out on every single one of them.

They even went beyond the current mission he was helping her with. Her scar. The story behind it. That search and rescue mission, the one where she'd broken her nose, the one where he'd wondered why a private investigative firm had been invited to find the missing journalists, the one that had caused her to miss out on his graduation from Harvard. His instincts during her storytelling had been right but he didn't feel the least ounce of pride in his deduction. It was something they'd pull out the big guns for. Obviously, this organization, this CDA, whatever the hell that meant, was the biggest of guns, if he were to correctly infer from what Dan was telling him.

Dan didn't see Jim go still as a marble statue or notice the color fade dramatically from his face. He was looking down at the bottle top, tossing it back and forth between his hands. Firmly believing he was confiding in someone in the know, he continued to share, "I have to admit to the teeniest tiniest bit of jealousy, you know. She doesn't have to worry about red tape or anything like that. Nope. Not our Trix. They have the premier authority over any law enforcement organization in the entire world. She's got it all. The best of everything. You should know all that, though. You've had an amazing chance here, Jim. They don't typically ask civilians to help out. In fact, from what I understand, there aren't many civilians besides us who even know that their organization exists. We're probably the only two. I found out by accident. You…well, you were luckier. You were told."

Letting out a loose whistle, Dan faded back, sent the bottle top flying. It hit its mark, landed squarely in the small waste basket. Cheering, he turned. For the first time, he saw Jim. The cheer died a swift, strangled death. He couldn't miss the expression on his friend's face. Distant…and hurt. Oh, God. He actually took a step away, until his back come up against the wall. The air should have turned a dark blue with the inventive phrases that spilled out of him. "Damn it, Jim. You didn't know," he muttered after the last of the curses died away, inwardly castigating himself for spilling Trixie's once well-guarded secret. "You didn't know."

Jim's lip turned up into a travesty of a smile. "No. I didn't know," he agreed, his tone slightly warmer than the tray of ice lying in the small freezer. Lowly, he muttered, "But you did."

Dan cocked his head to one side, unsure if he'd heard right. "What was that?"

Jim didn't bother to formulate an answer. Pivoting, he contemplated the front door to the suite, very nearly went towards it, only to halt himself. Max's warning rang fresh through his mind. Squelching his own desire to find a private place outside of the suite to think or sulk or rage or maybe do a combination of all three, he stalked out of the room. Even though the suite was a large one, there weren't many options available. The bedroom would have to do.

Dan witnessed Jim's departure with his mouth scraping the floor. It took a veritable strength of will to close it. This time, the curses he uttered were completely in his mind but no less colorful. He glanced down at the bottle in his hand and knocked back the rest of the amber liquid in four long gulps, hoping it would help. It didn't. Instead, the liquor only made his stomach churn more. He tried to figure out where he went so wrong but couldn't. He nearly, very nearly, hurled his now empty bottle against the wall. Instead, he deliberately and with extreme precision put it in the recycling bin the hotel offered.

Dan scrubbed a hand over his pale face, walked over to the terrace door, and brushed back a curtain. The pretty sight before him didn't offer the least bit of pleasure. Too many thoughts and now a whole lot of regrets. Everything he knew about his two friends kept circulating through his mind. He always came back to one irrefutable fact. James Winthrop Frayne II valued honesty. He didn't like deception; of any kind. And Trixie had been deceiving all of them for years. She had a more than acceptable reason, one that was extremely hard to dispute and equally able to comprehend, should one be willing to listen to her, but Jim likely wouldn't focus on that important aspect. Nope, Dan thought with an ugly grimace, he wouldn't. Jim would choose to focus on the simple fact that Trixie continued to lie to him even as he was willingly assisting her with the mission. "Great, just plain great," he grumbled morosely and let the curtain fall back into place. "Trixie is going to _kill_ me."

The earlier feelings he'd had that maybe the two were truly able to mend their relationship evaporated faster than the fake smoke used as ambiance in a Las Vegas stage show. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he turned around, contemplated the empty room. She'd be coming back soon. He wasn't looking forward to telling her. Like Jim had done a few minutes earlier, he looked at the front door but came to the same conclusion. He was stuck here, whether he liked it or not. At the moment, there was only one thing he was certain of. He'd be damned before he ever took another impromptu trip without carefully planning it out ahead of time. It simply wasn't worth it.


	19. Chapter 19

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Nineteen

Max and Shane were huddled together in a corner of their suite, looking over the surveillance tapes one more time on the high-tech laptop NASA would be envious of, and mumbling lowly to each other. Trixie sent them a half-hearted wave before contemplating the connecting door. It felt like her feet were dragging. She wasn't exactly eager to step back into the suite she shared with Jim. Once again, she'd been out-voted. Despite her objections, the mission was going forward. They were keeping the meeting even though that old feeling she didn't like, and was unfortunately all too familiar with, had settled back in the pit of her stomach. It didn't help that two strong emotions were gleefully warring away within her, pulling her in opposing directions. Happy; without a doubt. She wanted to spend more time with Jim, even if there was another Bob-White hanging around to encroach upon their time. But she was also apprehensive; very much so, because now she wasn't completely certain of Mr. Young or his intentions toward them. They'd be finding out in roughly four hours. At eight o'clock. She could handle whatever came her way, of that she had no doubt…so long as Jim wasn't caught in the cross-hairs. The bright blue of her eyes darkened. She'd make damn certain he wasn't.

Shoulders squared, the door opened with a determined flick of her wrist. After stepping back into the living room, the first thing that hit her was the unnatural quiet. It wasn't what she'd expected to find. Puzzled, she sent a single searching glance around the room. The person she was looking for wasn't in the room. "Where is he?" she wondered aloud, a frown on her lips.

Dan jolted. She'd come in so quietly he hadn't heard her. In a vain attempt to put off the inevitable, he opened the small refrigerator and contemplated yet another bottle. Deciding against it, needing his mental faculties working in as stellar of an order as possible, he used a knee to close the door, and skirted his way around the bar, coming over towards her. She was not going to be pleased with him. He masked a sudden flurry of nerves with what he hoped passed as his normal, roguish grin and warily began cataloguing the items in the room, looking for any possible weapons she could toss his way once she found out what he'd done.

His silence irritated her. "Jim?" she prompted again, tapping an impatient foot on the carpet.

Her one-word question stopped him in his tracks. Already feeling like it was getting off on the wrong foot, he colored and gestured in the general direction Jim had gone. "He, ah, went down the hall a few minutes ago," Dan answered, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

A testament to her current state of unsettled emotions, Trixie didn't read anything unusual into Dan's behavior. She flopped down on the sectional, grateful to finally be off her feet. After unzipping a boot, she slipped it off and made quick work with the other one. She wiggled her toes, stretched them out. Her poor feet ached from their long imprisonment in what she privately viewed as instruments of torture, not as a high form of fashion. The last one fell with a careless toss to the floor. She was going to be so grateful when she could resume wearing her preferred clothes again. "I'll need to talk to him," she mumbled, closing her eyes and leaning back against the cushions. Fatigue settled in, brought on by the stress of the unforeseen complications of the mission that was turning out to be a gift from hell. "Soon. When I can find the energy to stand up again."

Because her eyes were closed she didn't see Dan's guilty grimace. Hell, she looked tranquil; peaceful, even. He blew out a small breath, more than annoyed with himself, and intentionally walked away from the sectional. No way was he putting himself within reaching distance. He lowered himself down on the recliner Jim had slept in the night before, needing some serious distance between them. The coffee table was a start. She could probably vault it in one jump but he was confident in his abilities to avoid her. Maybe. "You and Jim definitely need to talk," he mumbled ever so quietly under his breath.

He spoke so lowly, Trixie didn't hear the words, only the muttered utterances. "What was that?" she asked without opening her eyes. A small sigh escaped her lips as she tucked her legs up underneath her and wiggled her feet again.

"Nothing," Dan answered quickly…too quickly, not in any hurry to bring up his faux pas. Since he wasn't beyond buying some time, he inquired about the mission. "Tell me. What did you guys decide over there? What's going to happen next?"

One blue eye cracked open. She raised its matching eyebrow. She and Max had swatted at every detail, every argument, every counter-argument, with the finesse of professional tennis players battling it out on the famed court of Wimbledon. Shane had sat quietly by, smiling every so often during their verbal sparring match, obviously enjoying his position as a spectator and not as a participant. When they were finished, Max had been declared the unanimous winner. Trixie remarked dryly, "Max and I had a long, long, long discussion."

"I know. You were gone for a while." A glance at his watch told him that she'd been away for a good solid hour. Just enough time for him to blow a huge hole in the reconciliation efforts existing between his two friends. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. He was right. She was definitely going to kill him.

"Max had me go over everything that happened downstairs. Everything. In minute, second-by-second detail." Using both hands, she tucked back her hair, completely unaware of Dan's unease. "While I was doing that, Shane broke into the hotel's surveillance system. We had the pleasure of watching our little fiasco." Over and over again, so much so that she could actually visualize it happening before her eyes right now.

"Well, what do you know. We're the newest reality television stars." His attempt at a joke, lame though it was, caused her to chuckle slightly. "We'd better watch out, Hollywood. E! is going to be pounding down our door."

"Hardly," she sniffed, more because he expected it of her than for any other reason. "Anyway, we managed to learn something very valuable," she declared as a slight amount of relief trickled through her. "The surveillance cameras inside the hotel do not have any audio. It's visual only. Nothing we said to each other was recorded. Nothing. We're safe on that score."

"You mean, I'm safe on that score." Dan figured he deserved the biggest slap to the forehead right now. Not only had he approached Trixie when she was very obviously working, he'd let a lot of personal information slip out and then, to top it off, he'd managed to spill her biggest secret to Jim. A banner day for Mangan, he thought with an inward sneer of disgust. Couldn't get much better.

She didn't want him to feel too bad. Trixie swung her head in his direction just in time to watch the guilty expression flicker across his face and incorrectly attributed it to their encounter outside of the bar. "There's no need to worry, Dan," she hastened to assure him, gifting him with a reassuring smile. "Since there wasn't any audio taken, Max, Shane and our Chief firmly believe we're totally in the clear. You don't have to feel bad about anything. The mission is still on." Much to her chagrin. As much as she wanted to, she still couldn't shake that odd, tell-tale feeling in her bones.

Maybe not. Jim hadn't been included in the decision. There was an extremely good chance his cooperation had changed sometime over the course of the past sixty minutes. Dan leaned forward, dug his fingers into the thick, plush arms of the recliner, and watched her closely. "How do you feel about continuing?"

"As an agent, I think it's a sound decision. All the pros and cons were weighed. All the possible outcomes were dissected and analyzed. It looks like everything should be fine. As Max pointed out countless times, I'm more than trained to handle whatever comes our way." Trixie hesitated and picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on her black camisole before admitting softly, "But, as a Bob-White, I'm not so sure if it is the best course of action."

"You don't want to put Jim's life in danger," he stated for her.

"Or yours," she was quick to add. "We watched, re-watched, analyzed, watched again and couldn't pinpoint anything other than the hug that could possibly make Mr. Young suspicious. Jim's already laid a good foundation when he talked to Mr. Young earlier. We'll pass if off exactly as he did while he was on the phone. You came to my aid, helped me, made a pass at me and I turned you down. Flat." A spark of amusement briefly lit her blue eyes and she winked at him. "Sorry about that."

Normally he'd have a whole host of witty, sarcastic comebacks at the ready. Not today. No words were forthcoming. He settled on an exaggerated wince because she was waiting for some kind of a response and was rewarded with a quick little giggle.

Giggling again, she got up, rummaged through her purse. Her gun and that all-important cosmetics case were still in their proper places. Satisfied, she glanced back at him and looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she'd re-entered the room. Dan, it seemed, was being awfully quiet. She studied him closely. "Are you feeling well, Dan? You don't seem quite like yourself right now. There's no need to feel guilty or bad or anything. Everything is going to work out just fine for us. You'll see."

He slowly got to his feet, all six feet of him, and moved back around the coffee table, making certain to keep it residing between them. He tried to pass it off with a shrug and a mumbled answer, "I've done a lot of traveling in the past few days. Maybe it's jet lag you're seeing."

"Could be." Her look turned suspicious. Something told her that jet lag had nothing to do with it. Wondering what was wrong, she started around the table and followed in his wake. Her lips sharpened into a smile. "But I don't think so."

Dan lifted a single broad shoulder again and retreated behind the small bar. With no remorse at all, he turned his back on her, started rummaging through the refrigerator again. "Are you thirsty, Hollywood? I could use another beer."

Trixie's sharp eyes took in the two empty bottles in the nearby recycling bin, as well as a half-full one on the bar. The half-full one she correctly identified as Jim's. The others, obviously, belonged to Dan. "How many have you had already?" she asked suspiciously.

"Two," he answered unashamedly, pulling out that same number from the refrigerator. He tossed one at her. "You should have one."

Her reflexes were good. She caught it before it landed on the floor. "I don't really need one," she declared and tried to hand it back.

He wouldn't take it. "Trix, you're going to want it," he insisted, waving her refusal off. "Believe me. You're really going to want it."

Those sneaky suspicions quickly blossomed into a whirling, swirling mass of apprehension. "Dan," she began, only to be interrupted.

Reaching across the countertop, he undid her top with practiced ease and took a healthy step back from her. Nodding, he encouraged her, "Take a sip. A good, long sip, Hollywood. It might help." He waited a beat before adding ominously, "Maybe."

"Dan," she repeated, eyebrows snapping together. When he stared back at her, with absolutely no expression on his face, she gave in to the need to sigh and took a quick swig. She hardly tasted the liquid as it traveled down her throat, to land with the force of a ton of bricks in the pit of her stomach. After slamming the bottle back on the counter top, she asked smartly, "There. Are you satisfied?"

Dan didn't cringe at the sting of her tone. "It wasn't for me. You are the one who's going to need it."

She made a valiant strive for patience but her supply was running extremely low right about now. "Dan, you're starting to give Mart a run for his money in the race to become the most frustrating, irritating, annoying person that I know. Seriously. Tell me. What the hell's going on here?"

Even though they had the width of the small bar between them, Dan rocked back on his heels, ready to dash to either side if she came after him. "Ah, it's like this, you see," he started with, searching for the right way to break the news to her while also keeping her within sights. He wasn't going to let her get the drop on him; not if he could help it. "It seems I owe you another apology."

"We've already covered this. You don't owe me any apologies," she snapped back, scowling in consternation at him. A quick shake of her head had blonde curls vibrating. "None. Let it go. It was merely an odd quirk of fate. Don't worry. It's been handled." She hoped.

"Well, um, that makes me feel a little better, I guess." Following his own advice, he ripped the top off of his bottle and swallowed a good portion of the liquid in three great big gulps.

Trixie watched him, unable to decide if she should be worried, fed up, or impressed. Since she didn't know what to feel, let alone what to say, she settled on one simple word. "Dan."

The tone was one he'd heard in the voice of her mother, when she was preparing to reprimand one, two or all of her blonde-haired children. Brian, the dark-haired one, never needed much reprimanding. Dan's features slowly evolved until he looked as guilty as Bobby had the day he cheerfully dug up a good portion of the flower garden, in a little boy's delighted search for hidden treasure he was certain had been deposited in the Belden's backyard centuries earlier. "Well, Trix, I, umm…you're wrong. Yeah, I need to apologize. I'm really sorry, you have to know that. It's going to sound stupid but, well, I simply didn't know. I assumed, you know." He shook his head. "And I managed to make a complete ass out of myself."

A flustered Dan wasn't something she was used to seeing. Trixie drew herself up as tall as she could, which, regrettably, wasn't as high or as impressive as it should have been, if she'd still had on her boots. She compensated by slapping annoyed hands on her hips. This time, she didn't speak. She lifted a single eyebrow, didn't take her steely blue eyes off of him, and prepared to do the impossible. She waited him out.

An unusual shade of red began to work its way up, starting at his neck and eventually taking over the entirety of his face. He pushed aside the newest bottle, deciding he didn't need any more of it. The two and a half bottles weren't exactly helping him right now. So much for a good buzz. Muttering, he said, "Jim and I talked while you were gone."

Trixie couldn't figure out why there was such a scowl on his face. "I knew you would," she remarked, using an understanding, soothing tone, believing it would help get more out of Dan than if she interrogated him directly. Roundabout was the right route to go with this one…if she had the patience for it. "There wasn't much else for you to do while I was gone. You were both told not to leave the suite."

He pulled back, stared at her in befuddled confusion. He almost expected her to reach out and pat his hand. Conciliatory didn't sit well upon her shoulders. He much preferred her tenacious bull-dog approach. Watching her cautiously, he went on to explain, "We talked about a lot. You know, the mission, how he managed to get caught up in it, that type of thing. I even said that the story felt like the premise for a television series. '80's, if you know what I mean."

"Fascinating," she murmured in what was supposed to be a comforting tone, eyeing the bottles again. Had he really only had two? She stood on her tiptoes to recount the amount in the bin. Yep, her calculations were correct. From the garbled, rambling explanation he was attempting to pass off to her, it sounded like much more.

He didn't hear the comfort. He heard blatant sarcasm. Rocking back on the balls of his feet, prepared to flee should it be needed, he admitted in vivid disgust, "Anyway, I kinda made a slight misjudgment. You see, I thought that you, well, I thought that you…" And he came to a sputtering, stuttering stop. It was harder to tell her than he expected it to be.

Giving up on trying to be understanding since it was obviously not working, Trixie glowered at him. "Dan, give it up, already. What happened?" Putting her elbows on the counter, she leaned across it and engaged him in a staring contest. It shocked her to her hose-covered toes when he was the one who looked away first. Daniel Mangan, backing down from a challenge? Those suspicions attacked her with a vengeance while a feeling of dread stealthily stole over her. Whatever Dan was going to say, it wasn't going to be good.

"It just made sense, you know." Dan shook his handsome head, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Well, he didn't really have to wonder. He didn't have to look any farther than the mirror on the bathroom wall to know who was responsible. And it was time now to admit it to her and face the music. "I didn't mean to let it slip. I honestly thought Jim knew. He appeared to. And, then, well, I didn't realize he didn't know until it was too late."

Trixie went still. Completely. An inkling of an idea was filtering through, all the while her mind was yelling out a huge, hot denial. "Dan," she murmured again, unnaturally quiet, unnaturally calm. "You didn't."

"I did. Damn it, Trix. I told him." Dan sucked in his next breath painfully. The air didn't help any. "He knows."

Her eyelids fluttered closed. In defeat or sorrow, she couldn't say. _He knows_ kept running through her mind, taunting and tormenting. A shudder worked its way up her spine. Knowing Jim as well as she did, it wasn't hard to figure out he wouldn't have been exactly delighted by the knowledge. A lip curled up; she squeezed her eyes tighter. And now Dan's odd behavior made perfectly perfect sense. _He knows_.

As one minute ticked its way into two, Dan felt the urge to escape leave and, concerned about her unusual quietness, slowly came around the bar. He almost reached for her hand but stopped himself, unsure of her response. "Trixie?" he asked cautiously.

She slowly opened her eyes. There wasn't an ounce of expression on her normally expressive face. Even her tone was different. Her words were short, clipped. "How did he take it?"

"I don't know," Dan hedged his answer, not willing to tell her that one seriously unhappy man had stomped his way out of the room earlier, not when she was staring back at him with what had to be her secret agent persona. It seriously impressed him. He wasn't used to seeing a Trixie who could not only control her more volatile emotions but could also hide their very presence from him. They had to be somewhere but she wasn't showing them, not to him. He wondered if she would to Jim. "Umm…he left the room right after I told him."

That was all she needed to know. She pivoted on her feet, only to be brought to a jerking standstill by an insistent hand at her elbow. She glanced down at it, then looked up at the man by her side, but didn't pull away, which was what he'd expected her to do.

"I really am sorry," he apologized sincerely. "You can blame me. Really. It's all my fault. I just wasn't thinking. Again."

While the thought of taking out some of her rampaging emotions on Dan was alluring, Trixie didn't. She couldn't, not when she knew she was the one entirely at fault for this one. She was the one who'd lied to Jim, whether outright or by omission. As she'd been taught by her parents, and Jim had definitely been taught by his, a lie was a lie. She couldn't sugarcoat it. She wouldn't, either. She'd lied. She'd deceived. And now it was obviously time to face the piper. She only wished he could understand. "Forget it," she mumbled, correctly reading the depths of contriteness in his eyes, and bravely waved his apology away.

He swore again. "I can try and talk to him first, if you'd like. Maybe I could soften him up for you," he offered, thinking that a third party might be able to help.

She gave a quick, negative shake of her head. Her curls, which had seemed so alive and buoyant before, hardly bounced with the movement. "This is my mess. I'll clean it up."

"Good luck." Dan picked up her bottle and offered it over. It didn't surprise him when she accepted it without a protest and swallowed a good bit before handing the bottle back over. "He went down the hall after I told him. I think he's in the bedroom."

Trixie nodded in acknowledgement. She walked out of the room, stopping only long enough to pick up her boots along the way. Her steps were slow while her thoughts were most decidedly not. She couldn't come up with the right way to handle it. Righteously belligerent? Contritely apologetic? Apathetically indifferent? All acceptable ways; all successful ways she'd used to handle a misunderstanding or cover up a mistake during her career. But none of them seemed appealing to her in the least, not when the mistake involved Jim. Making a meal of her bottom lip, with winging it the only possible avenue for her, she approached the bedroom door. Her hand shook as she turned the handle but nothing shook when she stepped through it. She appeared calm. Under a façade of cool serenity, she looked around the room, finding him immediately.

Jim almost dropped his head against the cool glass of the window. Almost. He couldn't give into it, didn't want to, even as he heard the click of the door closing. A small sound and yet it sounded foreboding to his ears. He didn't turn to acknowledge the new person in the room. There was no need to. He didn't move from his spot, continued looking unseeingly at the tourists walking across the courtyard below. Childish, he knew. But he couldn't make himself turn around; not when he couldn't get a strong handle on the emotional rollercoaster Dan's revelation had thrown him on. There were too many for him to handle, too many for him to feel.

Yeah. It was going to be good. The reminders of the last big emotional outbursts they'd shared together were in the room, the memories snapping out loud enough to bite at her. Fed up with the quiet, she strode across the carpet, flung the boots into the closet where they hit the wall with a thud before falling to the floor. Even that didn't make Jim turn around. Blowing out a frustrated breath, Trixie snapped a hand on her hip, the only sign she allowed herself that she wasn't as calm and in control as she'd hope to present. Like the old crabapple trees in the orchard back home, her feet felt rooted to the spot. Quietly, suppressing every emotion within, she uttered, "I hear you know."

When he turned, he purposefully kept his features impassive, not wanting to show her how much the news hurt. She'd lied to all of them. For years. Worse, she'd lied to him while he was working with her, while he'd thought they'd been reconnecting on a level he'd never imagined they'd be able to attain again. And then there was the annoying little maggot of a thought he couldn't shake away, no matter how hard he tried. Dan knew, had known before him. How their friend had come upon the knowledge, he didn't know, but it was an unshakable fact, one that he couldn't help but feel jealous of. However, he'd be damned before he'd admit it. His pride ran a little too deep for that. In an even voice that didn't allow anything to seep through, he responded, "Yeah. I know."

She nearly flinched from the coolness coming her way. When it came to disagreements with Jim, she much preferred a hot, outpouring of emotions. She couldn't stand it when it was cold. She almost expected to see frost starting to form on the insides of the windowpanes. Trixie threw back her head, looked down her pert nose at him. Her question was almost a challenge. "What do you think about it?"

"Secret agent," he remarked, nodding his head. "Good for you. Sounds like it's very… interesting, exactly what you've always wanted."

If his tone had a little more warmth to it, she might have actually believed him. "It is challenging," she answered, her response short and her voice foreign sounding. She found it hard to believe that only a short while ago they'd been cuddled up together on the loveseat, sharing what she'd hoped would have been the first of many, many embraces in their suite. And now…a whole truckload of toothpicks could safely fit between them.

Jim didn't make a move to cross the ocean of carpet residing between them. Content to stay near the window, he inquired in that coolly polite voice she detested, "Dan mentioned something to me about your agency. He said it was really secretive. CDA, I believe."

"Criminal Defense Agency," she supplied, brushing back a curl with a frustrated hand. In her opinion, he was pulling off the cool, calm and in control façade so much better than she was. "We're a covert organization. Not many people know of our existence. Few, if any, ever find out about it."

"That's what Dan said." It was the second time he'd brought up Dan's name, the second time he inferred the most nagging problem he had with the declaration. He wondered how exactly Dan had come upon this information, the reason why Trixie had sought to clue him in. It was the one question he wouldn't voice, no matter what.

Another long, endless moment of silence. Trixie broke it first, despising it with a vengeance. It was such a contrast to the passionate encounters they'd been enjoying together. A horrible contrast. It left her disconcerted and anxious, all which she hopefully hid behind a smooth face, a carefully controlled voice. "I suppose you have a few questions for me."

"Not really." He shrugged his shoulders. There were a million questions floating through his mind but he wouldn't, couldn't, admit it. Not now. He watched her out of unfathomable emerald eyes. Only a small flicker within showed how hard it was for him to maintain his aloofness.

Yeah, she'd much prefer an explosion of emotions. It was actually hurting her to keep still, to stay in control. In a move he quickly came to recognize as defensive, Trixie pressed both her hands to her thighs. Sweat pooled on her palms while she ran through the best possible way to move forward with him. One direction and one direction only: honesty. She'd have to be open and honest now, with him. She didn't have a choice. Not if she had any hopes of reaching out to him. "I'll tell you anything you want to know," she began haltingly. "Just ask."

"Start at the beginning," he suggested lowly.

Trixie inched back until she hit the wall. Staying there, using every bit of her strength to keep herself from looking at him, she said, her voice quiet and soft, her demeanor that of a college professor beginning to lecture a roomful of tired, uninterested college students, "It all started shortly after my high school graduation."

"You mean the summer you moved away from all of us, to California." He corrected her before he could stop himself, flinching inwardly at the memory. The very worst summer he'd ever had. Ever. It even put the ones he'd suffered through with Jonesy to shame. She'd left him, without a word, without an explanation, while he'd been away at that damn camp, miserable and having one of the worst experiences of his life, and wishing that he could get home, to her, to find a solution to the problems between them. Then, when he'd found out that she'd left, he'd let his emotions take over and hadn't done a damn thing to bring her back home. The little flicker turned quickly into a hot flame, darkening the emerald of his eyes, proving that he was feeling much more than she was giving him credit for.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not now, and became mesmerized by the intricate pattern on the expensive carpeting. "Obviously, you know that I received a scholarship, to California University. A full scholarship." Looking back, she couldn't believe how young, and, in a way, how naïve she'd been about it all. She'd simply viewed it as an escape route, a way to breakaway from the turmoil they'd caused each other. Now it was coming back at her. She had the pleasure of being at the exact same point she'd wanted to avoid that long-ago summer. She was standing before him, right in front of him, and now having to explain. Finally finding the courage, she risked a quick glance his way. He was looking at her the way she'd always been afraid he would…shuttered, without any hint of his emotions, without a clue to how he was feeling. Hell, it felt worse than it had the first time around. She glanced at the window, almost expecting to see a storm starting to swirl its way in. Nope. Beautiful blue skies. "I…um…was given an internship at the agency. Anderson, Donnelly and Christopher."

"The private investigative agency you 'work' for now," he remarked after her voice trailed off.

"It truly is a real private investigative firm. A good many of the people who work for it are real employees. But, well, it also serves as a cover for my true agency, as I'm certain you've figured out. It's a convenient way to keep us private and secretive. There are many other covers out there for us, too. It's not the only one. But it's the one I've been assigned to since the very beginning." She gave in, bit her bottom lip, another outward sign of her nerves.

"Dan thought the whole thing sounded like a TV show. Now I'm beginning to think so, too." Jim clamped down on the urge to pace. Instead, he substituted the need to move with the desire to look at her, to dissect her emotions. Like her, he couldn't see the whole truth. She appeared to be calm, to be in control, as if it didn't bother her that he'd found out the whole truth about her.

She, who always loved to be in movement, couldn't move to save her life. The wall became her lifeline. She stayed there, her back to it and her hands pressed up against it. "The scholarship came to me through the CDA. They'd been watching me for a while and had flagged my name. That's why they offered me the full scholarship, to get me to California. They wanted me away from New York; well, for obvious reasons."

"You know too many people," Jim noted before he could help himself.

Wide-eyed, she stared back at him and nodded. "They don't usually recruit someone with the amount of ties that I have. My family is pretty big; as are my friendships. The agency generally views ties like that as a liability. They prefer recruiting agents who are alone, or relatively alone, in this world. They figured the distance between New York and California would help both me, the agency, and my family and friends."

"Makes sense," he muttered in what she thought privately thought of as his lawyer-voice.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat, remembering how she discovered the truth during her first semester of college and how it had made her feel. Betrayed, definitely. Excited, of course. Proud, because they'd wanted her. And torn, between an exciting career that went beyond anything she'd ever imagined for herself and her loyalty to her family and friends. She'd only been able to make her final decision after an unexpected run-in with him, somewhere between her home and Ten Acres, during her first holiday season home. "I figured it out pretty early in my college career, actually. Right before that first Christmas I came home for the holidays. Our Chief offered me a position with the agency right then but he also gave me a time-limit. I had to let him know right after the holidays, before the next semester started up."

He remembered that first holiday they spent together, the first time they'd seen each other since the summer they'd split up. It hadn't been merry. It hadn't been joyous. It hadn't been enjoyable, not for either of them. For him, it had been long, hellish, and had set the tone for their relationship for the past seven years. Separate lives. It took a superhuman effort but he kept the emotions to himself. "I see."

"As you now know, I decided to take the Chief up on his offer," she said, wondering if she was imagining the chasm growing deeper and deeper between them. "Chief Ogilvie pulled a few strings, got me into training right away. I never had to go to another college class."

"Ogilvie?" Jim questioned quickly, allowing surprise to slip out for the very first time. He remembered working with an Ogilvie, a long time ago. St. Louis, gun-runners, and a horrifying night when his sister and his special girl had gone missing.

"Ogilvie," she repeated, standing a little straighter, seeing that he remembered the man well. "Believe it or not, he's in charge of our agency. He's the one who flagged my name. He's the one who wanted me recruited for the agency."

"All right." Jim glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. Standing against the wall, she looked small. But he knew how deceptive it was. She was only small in stature. There wasn't anything small, weak or defenseless about her. She was one of the strongest people he'd ever met. It looked like she was even stronger than he, or anyone else, had ever given her credit for. A thread of pride for her slipped through.

"That's about it. Really." Trixie continued to watch him. "I've had a great run with the best agents out there. Max, who you've met, and his wife, Jocelyn, were my trainers. Then they became my supervisors. We're usually sent out together, as part of a team. It's rare for us to go out on a mission without each other."

"It won't be for much longer," Jim noted, holding onto what he knew and refusing to think about the intangibles right now. "Your friend Max is retiring."

"You're right. He is." Trixie curled her fingers against her palm. Her long nails left small indented crescents against the flesh. Why wasn't he demanding to know more? Why was he being so logical about it all? She couldn't come up with an answer; could only respond in kind. "You already know I'm taking over for him after this mission."

Again, there was that pride for her but he couldn't let it breathe, not when he couldn't overlook one huge glaring fact. Hoping his voice sounded cool and not accusing, he declared, "You never told any of us about this. Not your parents, not your brothers, not Honey, not your friends. No one." _Except Dan._

"I couldn't tell anyone. One of the requirements of my agency is confidentiality. Supreme confidentiality. We're not supposed to talk about it. With anyone," she stressed, a little uneasy sounding laugh trickling out of her. "Because our agency requires total privacy…no, that's wrong. We don't require it. We need it. It's the reason why we thrive. No one is supposed to know about us. It's the ultimate way to keep us safe, to let us do our job."

"Right," he said in what from anyone else would be an understanding tone.

She read more into the single word than he intended, felt the hated blush of guilt start to work its way across her face. "Gleeps, Jim. I didn't want to hide it from you, especially since we've been working together these past few days," she tried to explain. She wouldn't apologize. She couldn't, not without dishonoring her work. And she wouldn't plead, not for forgiveness, not for understanding. All she had was the truth, as meager as it sounded. "I didn't have a choice. All this time we were together here, in Vegas, I couldn't tell you. I just couldn't."

"Of course." His voice was intentionally neutral. She couldn't tell him…but she could tell Dan. There was no way in hell he'd admit how much that bothered him.

If she wasn't already back against the wall, she would have fallen back further. As it was, she stayed right where she was. He wasn't breathing fire at her. His temper hadn't been ignited. Somehow, that seemed way worse than if he'd unleashed it on her. Warily, she watched him, looking for a sign of any emotion. "We go in when it's needed, are able to take on more complicated missions, and can do it without the protocol that's necessary for other agencies. We have a lot more freedom than other agencies."

"It's necessary to have that freedom right now," Jim said when Trixie stopped her explanation. He correctly identified the wariness in her eyes but didn't make a move to bridge the distance between them. He couldn't. Hurt and pride weren't the best of combinations.

She nodded once. "As you mentioned, it's Max's last mission. Chief Ogilvie wanted him to have an easy one." She released a small little laugh with not a single trace of mirth to it. "Obviously, he hasn't gotten what he wanted."

No, it wasn't easy, was far more complicated than he'd suspected it was. An '80's television show, indeed. He almost laughed. Instead, he kept his hands in his pockets, stared back at her, and carefully kept all expression off his face. It was the only way he could deal with it. And her Chief Ogilvie wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten what he wanted.

"That's about it." It wasn't. There was more to ask, more to wonder, more to explain. But she couldn't, not now, not when he seemed to be having trouble merely looking at her. She held her hands out. Not in supplication. She had too much of her own pride for that. "I was in training all through college. I became an active agent since the moment I 'graduated' from CU. And there you have it."

He wanted to run a hand over his hair. Because he thought that would be a sign of weakness, he kept them tightly fisted. "Where does that leave us now?"

However he meant it, she took the question at face-value. She wasn't brave enough to tackle how the revelation affected their personal relationship. "Max and the Chief believe it'll be safe for us to continue the mission. We went back and forth on the issue for awhile but they firmly believe we aren't in any danger. They want us to push forward…if you agree to it," she tacked on quickly, not exactly certain what his answer would be.

"Fine," he stated evenly. "I'll finish it out."

"Okay." The affirmative answer didn't give her any pleasure. Trixie nodded her head. Needing something to do, she headed over to the closet, began picking her way through her nightmare of a wardrobe. Tears shone brightly in her eyes before she resolutely blinked them away. Blindly, she reached for an outfit, pulled it out, and held onto the hanger with an almost desperate hold. The sparkle of silver didn't register. "We'll meet Mr. Young then at his penthouse."

"Eight o'clock," Jim murmured, remembering the time well. He stared at her back; saw the strength in it. She wasn't going to apologize, not to him, not to anyone. It was as obvious as the rigid line residing between her shoulder blades. Really, he couldn't ask her to, not when her safety and the safety of her fellow agents depended on the secrecy for their survival. But it didn't help the hurt fade. "You don't have to worry. I'll be ready." He walked towards the door, hesitated only a moment before opening it, and went through it, all the while wondering what the hell was going to happen between them now.

Trixie watched the door close behind him. She finally gave in, slumped against the closet door, and allowed one painful shudder of a breath to break out. A few tears broke through in spite of her steely resolve not to let them. Hopefully, something precious wasn't slipping through her fingers once again. She couldn't shake the feeling that it was…and that there wasn't much she could do to stop it, just like she hadn't been able to, a long, long time ago. She gave in to the urge, kicked the wall and then swore at the immediate pain. "Wonderful," she grumbled and glared down at her throbbing toes. "Just plain wonderful."


	20. Chapter 20

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty

Trixie carelessly dropped the mascara wand where it landed with the rest of her army of cosmetics. Gracefully, she stood up from the frilly seat and left the vanity without a single glance in the mirror. Idly she slid in one large silver hoop earring, followed the other. Her mass of blonde curls were pulled up, held together with a large rhinestone-studded silver clip. Silver, it seemed, was her color of the moment. She was draped in it, from the floaty silk scarf adorning her neck to the flimsy material of the sparkly dress that stopped just short of mid-thigh where a pair of black leggings, also shot through with silver thread, took over. The sandals on her feet were Grecian in style and were, of course, silver. She stopped in front of the door. Since a mirror was attached to the back of it, she had no choice but to finally see her reflection. "Lovely," she mumbled with a sardonic roll of her eyes and pushed open the bathroom door, finding no pleasure in her appearance. The door banged shut behind her.

The empty bedroom gave her pause. She swallowed back a sigh, trying to tell herself that it didn't matter when, in fact, it did. It mattered much too much. No Jim. He'd made himself scarce. He'd managed to stay out of her way. On the other hand, she hadn't exactly been beating down every door in the suite, trying to seek him out, either. She'd successfully avoided him as much as he'd avoided her. She didn't' know much about what he'd done to occupy himself. All she knew was that Max had pulled him over to the other suite for a lengthy conference earlier. The only reason she knew that was because after finishing up his conversation with Jim, Max had immediately claimed her and dragged her over to discuss the upcoming dinner with Mr. Young, as well as the tiny and almost trivial fact that both Jim and Dan knew about her job and the existence of their agency. Oh, yeah. It had been a lot of fun, she thought with a small snort.

Muttering a string of unintelligible words under her breath, she practically stomped her way down the hallway into the living room, as unenthusiastic and unexcited about the dinner at the penthouse as she could possibly get. Even the thick carpeting worked against her. It didn't give her the pleasure of hearing the sound of her stomping feet. Realizing her face had to reflect the darkness of her mood, she took a moment to steady herself before appearing in the doorway, just in case the elusive Mr. Frayne was in attendance.

Negligently sprawled out on the sectional, long limbs loose, a remote in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, Dan glanced up the second he heard someone approach the doorway. His mouth hit the floor. He'd already witnessed her in one outrageous outfit. A second one? It only showed how difficult it was for him seeing Trixie Belden, one of his best friends and a former tomboy to boot, wearing such revealing clothes. The thin dress hugged every single curve she possessed. The black strap of her bra showed where one edge dared to dip down. His gaze wandered over her before he eventually remembered to shut his mouth. He did so with an audible click. Hoping to hide his shock behind his trademark charm, he let out a low, wolfish whistle and curled up the edge of one lip. "You're lookin' real good there, Hollywood. Vegas must really be suiting you."

"Hah, hah," Trixie remarked, barely resisting the urge to snort again. "You can save it for someone else, Mangan. It won't work on me." Since his bottle of water looked tantalizing, she crossed over to the bar to get one for herself.

He chuckled in response. While she looked stunning, he wouldn't ever admit it to her. He knew better. She'd never believe him. Never. A quick flick of a finger turned off the television set, effectively ending the mindless action-adventure movie he'd been watching or, more accurately, attempting to watch. He set his bottle on the coffee table and rose up, cautiously approaching her. Somehow over the past few hours the living room had become his lair. Trixie and Jim merely floated through it; neither stopped in to visit him for any significant amount of time. He had a pretty good idea he knew why Trixie was finally deigning to visit. Inclining his head towards the clock, he declared, "It looks like zero hour is finally creeping up on us."

"Just about twenty-five minutes to go." Trixie frowned at the clock. The unease wouldn't leave, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, no matter how many times Max had told her everything was going to be fine and, even if something did happen, that he'd already put emergency plans in place, just in case. It was just _there_, relentlessly gnawing away at her. She didn't know if her unease should be attributed solely to the mission or to the fact that she and Jim had some seriously unsettled business between them. Most likely it was a combination of both. Either way, she wasn't looking forward to meeting Mr. Young, not when she felt so adrift. She started to chew on her bottom lip and immediately stopped after coming into contact with her newly applied lipstick. It didn't taste good. Frustrated with herself, she mumbled, "Yeah. It won't be too much longer."

"I know you had a long talk with Max. Was he…ah…mad or anything?" He tossed the remote back and forth between his hands, watching her with uncharacteristic apprehension.

"Not really. Or, if he was, he didn't show it," she answered with a small shrug of her shoulders. "He's listing it as one of those odd quirks, I guess. I did have to explain how you discovered my secret." Remembering Max's response made her chuckle. His eyes had grown to twice their normal size when she'd shared that little tidbit with him. "He found it extremely amusing, if you must know."

Dan stuck his hand under his shirt and mimed a thumping heart. "Ah…sweet Ashley," he whispered throatily, hoping to get a rise out of her.

She reached out and punched him on the arm…hard…before getting back to the question at hand. "Anyway, Max knows what happened. You ran into an agent a while back, discovered the secret of my agency's tattoo through her, then you saw my tattoo, made the unfortunate connection, and accidentally let it slip to Jim." She lifted her shoulders again while a tiny spark of amusement briefly lit up her eyes. Really, it was almost humorous when put that way. Her lips twitched. "No big deal."

He couldn't help himself. He barked out a long, low laugh, one she joined him with. It was a pretty big deal, more than a pretty big deal...and it showed how off he was right now. Stupid. How stupid of him to approach her when she was working. And how stupid to have told her secret to Jim. "No big deal," he repeated, shaking his head. "Right." He drew out the last word, making it sound more like a six-syllable word instead of the one short syllable it actually was.

She stopped laughing and aimed a reassuring smile at him. "Anyway, you're in the clear. You're not being hauled away for a series of intense questioning. You're not being put on the CDA's watch list or anything like that, either. Believe it or not, you're completely safe, Daniel Mangan." Unable to resist, she leaned towards him and declared in a low stage whisper, "For now."

He chuckled again. "Thanks. I'll be able to sleep better."

After her answering giggle died down, she ran her finger along the curved edge of the small bar. Even though it embarrassed her, even though she told herself not to do it, she couldn't help it. She asked the question anyway and nearly kicked herself once it slipped past her lips. "Where's Jim?"

"In the kitchen. I think. At least that's where he was the last time I saw him. Max stopped over again when you were getting dressed for the evening. He said he wanted to go over some details with Jim but I think he wanted to check on Jim's status for tonight. They went back to the kitchen to talk. Max left a short while ago. I haven't seen Jim since." When Trixie didn't reply, he added, hoping to be helpful, "He's all ready. I know that for sure. He's not backing out on you. Jim's definitely going through with the dinner tonight. You don't have to worry."

She took a sip of her water and then screwed the cap back on with the utmost of precision. All the while emotions dueled within her. At this point the only way to call a halt to the mission would be if Jim declared his position in it null and void. No one else was going to end it. Part of her would love to have Jim do just that; then, she'd know without a doubt that he would be safe. The other part, the part that had led her from an amateur teenaged detective to an ultra successful secret agent, wouldn't let her give up. She was too tenacious. She had to see it through. Sighing again, hating the emotional rollercoaster she seemed destined to ride on, she murmured quietly, not exactly certain if she was speaking the truth or not, "That's good."

"Is it?" Dan questioned under his breath, correctly identifying the mixed emotions battering away at her. He ran a hand through his dark hair and considered his next course of action. He could take the high road, choose not to tell her about his suspicions or…Yeah, the easy road wasn't for him. Decision made, he gestured towards a stool and invited her to have a seat. "Listen, Trix. There's something I've got to say to you."

Refusing the offer, she stood her ground, blue eyes meeting the onyx ones without an ounce of flinch to them. She had a feeling she knew what was coming next. So far, he hadn't approached her about her discussion with Jim. She'd been hoping he wouldn't. Or that he'd have the good sense to wait until after their meeting with Mr. Young. It looked like it was just one more insignificant wish she wasn't going to have granted. "I'm waiting," she said in a tone with a hint of haughtiness to it.

Dan flashed a lightning quick grin. She was a force to be reckoned with, no matter what, and nothing ever kept her down for long. Her resiliency was amazing. He always admired that part of her. "First, I need to apologize to you again. I can't tell you enough how sorry I am for blowing your cover with Jim. I mean it. Sincerely."

She waved a hand through the air, dismissing it. "Don't worry, Dan. It happened. It's over. We'll deal with it and then move on." Somehow. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she hoped there was a way they could get past it.

"Yeah, well, I can't help but notice that the two of you haven't really….talked since you talked before, if you know what I mean." He came to a nearly stuttering stop, hating the fact that he was stammering his explanation towards her. A dull heat attacked his cheeks.

Dan? Flushing? Again? Trixie would have found it humorous any other time. Considering the content of their conversation, she really couldn't, not this time. Painting a wide grin on her face, she tapped his arm and insisted, "Don't worry about it, Dan. We're all grown-ups here. We'll find some way to deal with it."

He wasn't holding his breath. The last time they'd had a disagreement, nearly seven years went by without either one of them making a significant move to reconcile their differences. If what he said now helped, even in the tiniest of ways, then he truly believed he would have made amends for muddling things up between them. "While you and Frayne were content to stay in your separate corners, I've been doing some thinking. Anyway, I thought of something that I want you to think about."

"Sounds like you've done too much thinking," Trixie responded dryly. She arched a lone eyebrow and waited.

He closed the short distance between them, effectively caging her in between him and the small bar behind her. He inwardly applauded her when she didn't push him away. "I've used the past few hours of my enforced solitude to go over and over everything I said to Jim after you left the room. I really wanted to figure out where I went wrong."

"You came to Vegas," Trixie broke in, a small smile taking the slight bite out of her words.

"Besides that," Dan agreed, taking no offense. "But I keep coming back to something Jim said to me, right after I told him. It was at the end, shortly before he left the room."

"And what is this grand revelation you'd care to share with me?" she inquired, her face a careful mask of total indifference.

She couldn't fool him. He saw more than she wanted him to see. He bravely took her hand in his, squeezed hard when she moved to pull away, and grinned when she finally stopped, realizing the futility of the movement. She was stuck. He wasn't letting her go. At least, not until after he'd finished explaining his thoughts to her. "It's like this, Hollywood," he began. "We both know that Jim Frayne doesn't like lying or deception of any kind."

Her eyes narrowed. Her face went stony. She gave a hard tug and managed to free her hand from his. "Tell me something I don't know," she huffed out, staring up at the ceiling and tapping an impatient foot on the floor.

"It's not something he can help. I'm not trying to make excuses for him or anything like that. It's part of his genetic make-up. We've witnessed it enough over the years." Dan bravely took her hand back and waited until she brought her face up to his. There was no hiding of emotions from him this time. She looked downright mutinous. "So that's one of the reasons why he was so upset. Obviously. He'll get over it pretty quickly, though, especially when he realizes that secrecy is in your job description." Striving for levity, he attempted to joke, "If a corporate lawyer of all people can't understand all the fine-print involved, I don't know who can."

"Thank you for your analysis. I feel so much more enlightened now than I did before." The sarcasm nearly dripped from her lips. Needing a break, she turned and found a bit of salvation in another sip of the pure mountain spring water, bottled exclusively for the hotel.

Since she hadn't attempted to claw him with her nails or hit him over the head with the brass lamp sitting on a nearby table, he risked it and bowed towards her with a flourish, pretending to take her words at face value and ignoring the sarcasm completely. "I accept your thanks but you may want to hold onto it for a moment longer. I'm not finished yet."

"Just what I wanted to hear," she muttered and pretended to inspect her nails, affecting boredom.

He caught the way she kept him in her sights even as she pretended to look at the flashy red polish on her nails. God, she was amusing when she was all riled up. He absolutely adored that about her. "He'll get over the lying part pretty quickly especially when he realizes that he's been lying himself. He has been your partner for a few days now, you know. Fake name, fake history, fake fiancé and all that. He's been lying, too. Quite willingly, I might add," he repeated for effect.

Her eyes snapped to his. The truth of that particular angle had escaped her. "You're right," she breathed, suddenly more interested in what else Dan had to tell her.

He saw the exact moment when she became interested in him or, more accurately, his deductions. Pleased to have her full attention, he continued, "No, it's not the lying that's upsetting him. At least, it won't be once he gets over his initial shock. It's another pesky little thing that's bothering him." He waited a beat before inquiring, "Do you want to know what it is?"

Trixie nearly gritted her teeth. Patience had never been her strong point. "Of course."

"It took me a while to realize it, myself," Dan admitted, shaking his head in sham disappointment and inwardly laughing at the waves of impatience rolling off of her right now. One thing was certain. He definitely had her attention now. "Truly, it did. I think spending a few hours in this very room, without either you or Jim for company certainly helped the thinking process." When she released a low growl of pure exasperation, he took the hint and hurried on…a little. "Once I succeeded in calling myself every single four-lettered name in the book, and then invented a few more, I sat down on that comfortable leather sectional right over there and started to analyze it. All for you, of course. I figured it was the least I could do."

Striving for humility wasn't something that fit him well. Trixie told him with a snort and a defiant toss of her head. Barely resisting the urge to throw in a roll of her eyes, she had no choice but to encourage him. It was the only way to find out what he wanted to tell her. "And what did you figure out with your awesome analysis?"

Dan took a deep breath. "Jim's jealous," he stated quietly, all teasing aside.

She dropped back, astonished. Her mind worked furiously but she couldn't come up with anything to support his simple statement. "What the hell could Jim possibly be jealous of?"

He immediately shot back his answer and pointed at himself. "Me."

She stared at him, her mouth settling into a thin, straight line of pure disbelief. "That's just ludicrous," Trixie insisted loudly. The thought of Jim being jealous of Dan made absolutely no sense to her. She brought her hand up to run it through her hair and succeeded in dislodging the clip. The curls fell down in a riotous, tumbling mess. Absently, she picked up the clip and tossed it behind her. "Why would he be jealous of you?"

"It's not a relationship-type thing," he explained hastily, knowing exactly where her mind was going. "I mean, he knows we are and always have been friends and that's it. No, he's not jealous on that end. Not in the least."

The ends of her mouth dipped down. Clearly finding the whole conversation un-amusing to the extreme, she stepped away from him and started pacing. When she made it back to him, she whirled around, an unpleasant scowl on her expressive face. "Seriously, Dan. You're wrong here. This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my entire life. There is no way Jim could possibly be jealous of you."

"He could and he is." Dan swallowed in deep before taking an even deeper plunge. "It's all about the fact that I already knew your secret, Trix."

"But, Dan, I don't see…" she declared, staring at him with incredulity.

"Think about it," he interrupted quietly…much too quietly. "Really, Hollywood. Take a minute and just think about it." Sticking his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, he waited her out and watched as emotions began to flicker across her face.

Denials were coming at her fast and sure, demanding that she overlook and dismiss Dan's allegation as a figment of his imagination, possibly brought on by one too many alcoholic beverages. She even glanced back at the bar to see if he'd partaken in more since she'd been gone. Surprisingly, there weren't any more empty bottles lying about. At least, not of the alcoholic kind. Only an empty water bottle. As she opened her mouth to hotly deny the claim again, a single memory came back at her, to poke and prod, to tear and taunt, to claim that Dan wasn't as out of the park as she initially thought he was. An encounter that became as turbulent and intense as the storm bearing down on them as she and Jim stood outside their clubhouse. Its memory mocked her, jeered at her, made her see Dan's suggestion in a whole new and not very appealing light. It happened right as a summer storm was beginning to hit, right when they found themselves at what turned out to be an untimely, unexpected, and extremely unwanted crossroads in their relationship. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped, and the color began to fade at a furious pace from her face. She wanted to deny it still but couldn't find the strength of will. Dan, damn him, was right.

"I see you do understand," Dan said with a nod of his dark head, hating himself for causing her to remember. The memories, he knew, were more than painful. "Jim's not going to admit it, not to me, and definitely not to you, but he's got that little jealous seed planted in there which is probably more detrimental right now to the two of you than anything else. His vision is going to be slightly skewered, if you know what I mean."

She hardly heard what he said. The memories of that night were alive and thriving in her mind, the ones she worked extremely hard to keep at bay and never give life to. Their first fight; the pain, heartache, and the dreadfulness of it all. And she realized how true and accurate Dan's beliefs were. Jim didn't know that she hadn't sought Dan out. He didn't know that she hadn't confided in him or that Dan only found out her secret by accident. He definitely didn't know that she'd never actually told him, either. She'd never spoken the words aloud, never admitted it to Dan. He simply knew, courtesy of the markings on her damn tattoo. He hadn't needed her to say a single thing. And she couldn't say a thing, not without violating her job, her agency and her own honor. "Oh," she mumbled, suddenly finding the carpeting on the floor very interesting.

"Yeah. Oh," Dan replied with a humorless sort of a chuckle. He sank down onto a stool, gave her a minute to process it, all the while watching her out of the corner of his eye. She hadn't shuttered herself off from him…at least, not yet. It was as clear as the beautiful blue sky of the recent afternoon that his observation more than hurt her. Because it was true. Since she wasn't one who liked drowning in uncomfortable emotions, he cleared his throat and tossed out a challenge, giving her the direction she so desperately needed. "So. Here's the next question. What are you going to do about it?"

Finally bringing an end to her unwisely and untimely study of the uninteresting carpet, she snapped her head up and stared at him for a full minute while she considered his question. What was she going to do about it? Suddenly, she knew. It was as clear as crystal. An unnatural light come to her eyes, one he correctly read as militant. A hand landed on her hip while the other idly played with the strands of her silvery scarf. "I'm not going to back down," she murmured, immensely pleased with the idea. "I'm not going to play the part of the simpering, apologetic person who did something wrong. No, I'm not going to do that."

"Not feeling quite so guilty now, are we?" Dan mused, more to himself than to her. It pleased him, to see the spunk come back to her, to see the lines of guilt fade, to see her spine straighten and the light that was such an inherent part of Trixie return. Jim, he realized, wouldn't stand a lick of a chance. Not when she got through with him.

Slowly, her lips curved upwards into a smile full of feline satisfaction. If it had been aimed his way, Dan would have turned and fled in the opposite direction. Any male with a healthy sense of self-preservation would have done just that. In a way, she was oddly thrilled about the discovery. Her guilt, the load she'd carried about having to lie and deceive Jim even as he was willingly helping her, had lightened immensely. She nearly purred as she said, "Oh, no. If he wants to act like an ass, I'll be more than happy to treat him like one."

He steepled his fingers together, studied her closely. Oh, yes. She no longer looked defeated, guilty or wan. He heard the sound of a closing door from the end of the hallway, correctly identified the owner of the muffled footsteps coming their way. Jim, it seemed, was going to be in for a surprise. He gave her an approving nod, prepared to see how the man handled the woman before him. Or, more accurately, how the woman handled the man. Leaning against the bar, crossing his feet at his ankles, making himself as comfortable as possible, he prepared to enjoy a jolly good show. "Good luck, Trix. I think the show's about to begin."

With pride supporting her and strength adding more to it, Trixie greeted Jim with a coolly assessing look the second he entered the room. Refusing to take on the role of the guilty party, she let a smile that should have been warm and welcoming flitter across her lips. Speaking cheerfully, she chirped out as if nothing untoward had happened between them, "Good evening, Jim. We'll have to leave in a few minutes if we want to make our meeting on time."

Her mirthful voice stopped him in his tracks. He hadn't expected a greeting, hadn't really known what to expect when they came across each other again. It was the most she'd spoken to him since their conversation in the bedroom. Did he detect a note of cheer in her voice? The quick glance he meant to give her didn't end up being so quick. As usual, he couldn't not look at her. It didn't help that the gentle light provided by the soft lamps reflected beautifully off of her, dazzling him with her brilliance. While she was dressed in ultra feminine clothes, he couldn't shake off the feeling that the silver gleamed more like the unbreakable armor on a knight than of the feminine fabric she was wearing. Momentarily taken aback, he settled for an old stand-by and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Right. We've got fifteen minutes to get upstairs to the penthouse."

Trixie's smile bloomed but not out of happiness. Hips swaying, she strolled over to her purse and pulled out her cell phone, all the while swearing at Jim in his mind for his incorrect assessment of the situation. She whipped out her cell and whirled around, an odd look to her eyes that completely belied the pleasant tone of her voice. "Max gave me a new app for the meeting. He knows I'm not feeling one hundred percent confident in the veracity of Mr. Young's sentiments towards us and he wants to make me…well, us, feel as comfortable and protected as he can. That's what we secret agents do. We watch out for each other."

Although he had survived the rigors of law school, and at Harvard, no less, it took a superhuman effort to focus on her words. Hearing her admit so casually that she was a secret agent rocked him, made him feel even more off center. "Ahh…right," was all he was able to stammer out.

"It's quite useful," Trixie continued on affably, all the while wondering how someone as smart and intelligent as Jim could be so stupid about such an important matter. It wouldn't have hurt for him to actually have _asked_ her how Dan had found out or to have asked Dan himself, she fumed inwardly, keeping her face a mask of serene indifference. Nope, not James W. Frayne II. Instead, he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. She walked towards him with an apparent ease, the soles of her soft sandals making a whispering sound on the thickness of the carpeting. "Do you see this?"

He looked down. He saw it. He couldn't help it. She was practically shoving the small phone under his nose. He leaned back to get a better look and stared at the small app she was tapping with a well-manicured finger. No words were on the app. It was dark blue in color, with only an infinity sign in the center of it. "I see it," he answered, watching her with an odd wariness and wondering what she was going to say next.

"It's an SOS. For our use. Max made it a short while ago and installed it. He chose the infinity sign on purpose. It's a pretty important sign for my agency," she explained in that jovial tone of voice he was finding more grating by the second. For once, she didn't blush when bringing up an uncomfortable subject in front of him. Righteous indignation, it seemed, counteracted that damn amount of pigment she had been overly blessed with at birth. She met his green eyes without flinching and a proud tilt to her head, curious about how he would react after she brought up her agency.

Something was different about her, much different than when she'd finally told him the whole truth. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. However, he possessed enough male intelligence to realize that he may not want to put his finger on it…ever. Wisely, he chose to overlook it. There was no way in hell he was going to question her about it, not when she looked ready to do battle with him as the sure loser. "All right," he remarked neutrally.

"It works like this. If we feel that we're in any danger, any danger at all, we simply have to push it." Since her cell phone was currently locked, she demonstrated it with a flourish of grace Vanna White would have envied, and smiled again. "See? Just like that. If we need help, we'll have a whole cavalry of agents breaking down the door in a manner of seconds."

He continued to eye her cautiously, more than surprised by how easily she was continuously bringing up her agency to him. Stunned, shocked, staggered. Any one of those words would successfully describe his emotional state at the moment. "That's good to know," he muttered inanely, tossing an odd look at Dan who appeared to be choking on something. What, he didn't know, since Dan wasn't eating or drinking anything.

Trixie beamed her approval at him. "That's not the only improvement Max has made to my phone." She flipped the phone over. One long finger tapped against a little black flap that appeared to be one of those tiny removable covers for slipping in a memory card. "Do you see this? It's an extremely tiny camera. Through this, we're going to be recorded and watched. If we need help and we can't get to my phone for whatever reason, it'll be there, right away. I simply have to make sure my cell is out of my purse for the duration of our meeting. That's all. Super simple, right?" She blinked up at him, waiting for his answer.

"Yeah. Simple. We'll be safe," Jim said because she appeared to be waiting for him to say something. He couldn't help but feel foolish and tongue-tied. She wasn't acting the way he'd thought she would be. He'd been expecting a cool, maybe frosty, silence from her. He hadn't counted on an extremely cheerful woman who was willingly bringing up her secret agent status to him with practically every other word pouring out of her mouth. It threw him for the largest of loops, made him very uncomfortable and even more unsure of himself.

She actually fluttered her eyelashes at him, which seemed as incongruous as the beam of approval she'd sent his way a few seconds earlier. "That's the plan. I'll have my gun with me, of course." Since it felt good to finally show it off to him, she pulled it out of her purse and held it up. "It'll be right here, in my purse, just in case we need it."

Jim stared at the weapon as if mesmerized. "Have you had that with you the whole time?"

"It's like that American Express card. I don't leave home without it," she answered with a magnificent smile that actually hurt her cheek muscles to hold in place. She slipped it back inside and patted the side for good measure. "It's covered with a special material my agency uses on all of our weapons and other important gadgets. The material makes it completely invisible to metal detectors of any kind. No one would know it's there…unless they felt it."

Because it seemed like interjecting would be appropriate, Dan decided to do just that. He focused entirely on Jim and inserted, "Her agency really does have all the best devices in the world."

Having forgotten their friend's presence, Jim swung his head around. He correctly identified the amused grin on his friend's face. Somehow, Dan was finding the whole interchange entertaining. Jim certainly wasn't. He glared at him.

"Dan's right," Trixie remarked jovially, bobbing her head up and down in agreement. The curls followed each movement. She clapped her hands together and stated proudly, "There isn't anything better out there than what we have. Our technology is remarkable."

Left out in the dark with absolutely no clue on how to proceed, Jim stuck his hands in his pockets. "That's good."

"It certainly is," she responded cheerfully…much too cheerfully.

Dan covered his mouth with his hand in a vain attempt to stifle another chuckle. Trixie, it seemed, should never be crossed. When she started batting her eyes at Jim, he lost it. Laughter started to pour out, deep and loud.

With Trixie fluttering her blue eyes at him, obviously waiting for him to say something, and Dan laughing his ass off in the background, Jim nervously fumbled for the next thing to say. "Ah…I met with Max a while back. He had me go over my phone conversation with Mr. Young over and over again. He said that consistency would be key here. We can't deviate from what I said."

"He's right. Deviating from the story right now would be very dangerous. It wouldn't be a very good idea," she answered, pleased by the baffled confusion Jim couldn't keep off his face. He deserved it. Especially when she thought back to how close they had become over the past few days…and what they had each planned on doing once they'd returned to the suite, before Dan had arrived and tossed the wettest of blankets on their plans. "We're going to need to be sharp here. We can't make any mistakes."

"I won't make any." Feeling like he was floating on the sea without the support of any type of a life preserver, Jim looked towards Dan for a direction. Any kind of direction. It didn't matter. But Dan let him down when he merely flashed another grin and took a leisurely sip from his water bottle. Obviously, he was on his own this time around. So much for male support, he thought with an inner snort of disgust.

Getting as mentally prepared for the meeting as she could, Trixie shouldered her purse and informed Jim, "Max and the back-up team have already reported to their assigned places. They'll be watching, listening and ready to come to our aid, should it be necessary. Judging by the clock, it's time to go." She gave Dan a small wave and sauntered her way over to the door. "Enjoy your first night in Las Vegas, Dan."

He sent back a sarcastic chortle. "Yeah. I'm planning on it. I've got all this to keep me company." Spreading out his arms, he indicated the large and soon-to-be empty suite. "If I get bored here, I can hop over to the next room, the one that looks suspiciously like this one." He couldn't help but let out a low sigh especially when he thought of all the wonderful sights Vegas had to offer. At least there was one amenity he couldn't argue with. Thanks to Max, he could listen in on their meeting upstairs. He glanced down at his own cell, chose not to bring it up to them. They had other issues to deal with right now.

"We'll see you when we get back." Jim slowly walked over to Trixie. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was coming out on the losing end of some game he didn't even know he was playing. It disconcerted him. A small frown wrinkled the lines of his forehead.

"I'd much rather be going with you," Dan admitted, giving them a two-fingered salute. "Good luck with your dinner meeting. I can't wait to hear about your evening when you get back."

Trixie waved again, carefully opened the front door and moved out into the hallway, Jim a step behind her. It was bustling with hotel guests who were ready to begin the night's activities. Needing to stay in character, she grabbed a hold of Jim's elbow. The touch was light and yet she still felt it all the way through her. She pasted the bright smile on her face, kept it there the entire way down the hall but couldn't figure out how to begin a conversation with him, even a simple one. Instead, she walked silently by his side. She tried to concentrate on the meeting and the way it could go but her mind took a long detour but couldn't stop thinking about what Dan had said. Together, they stepped into the empty elevator, Jim equally as silent as she. A quick tap on her phone revealed that the elevator was once again safe and secure. With the self-same smile on her face, she nodded an affirmative at Jim and watched as the elevator closed them in.

He drew in a deep breath while the numbers rose higher and higher. Now or never. Fed up with the overly cheerful woman smiling beside him, he pushed the small red button, bringing the elevator to a sudden jerk of a stop, halfway in-between floors. "Trixie," he started, not exactly certain what he was going to follow it up with but knowing he had to do something before they encountered Mr. Young.

"Jim, now is not the time," she said and reached out to brush his hand off the button.

He wouldn't let her. His hand stayed right where it was. Hating feeling foolish with a vengeance, he spoke insistently, "It can wait."

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted an eyebrow. Speaking like one would to an overly fussy child, she inquired in a calm tone he found exceedingly annoying, "Fine, then. What do you wish to say?"

He kept his left hand on the button. Green eyes focused intently on her face, a face he was having terrible trouble reading. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on seeing her true emotions again, how much it meant to him. After nearly seven years of interactions that could only be termed as polite, poised, well-mannered, even bloodless, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he couldn't go back to that type of relationship with her, not without feeling like he'd had a limb cut off. Once had been bad enough. He couldn't handle it again. Trixie, on the other hand, seemed to be handling it just fine. "What I wish…I mean…You are…Once we…You know, when I found out…Damn it, I hate this," he growled out, running his right hand through his hair, causing the ends to spike up.

Her traitorous hand itched to smooth his hair back down. "I can't help that," she said as blandly as possible. "But we really…"

"Look," he interrupted, struggling to find what needed to be said because he did not want to end up where they had been, lost somewhere along that damn broken road. "I don't want an apology or anything. I don't need one."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're not getting one," Trixie shot back quickly…too quickly, finally letting him see that she wasn't as happy or as comfortable around him as she appeared to be.

The knowledge made him feel better. Slightly. "Okay. That's good. I don't want one, anyway." He nearly blew out a frustrated breath but stopped himself just in time. "It's just that…I was…hell, Trix. It all came out of left field. I didn't expect it. I never expected it. Part of me knows that you couldn't tell me, even though I was helping you. The other part…" He left the rest unsaid.

She lifted her face up, shocked that he called her Trix. There had to be some progress for him to do that, she realized with a start of surprise. It had almost taken him seven years after their break-up before he'd called her Trix again, during the week leading up to Honey and Brian's wedding. Because he used it, her voice softened and she admitted lowly, "I know. You should never have expected it. In fact, you shouldn't ever have known. I went to great pains to make certain no one knew. I had to. It's part of my job."

"Then how did Dan know?" He almost bit off his tongue the second he gave life to the question. Flushing, he glanced off to the side. Frustration gleefully ate away at him, although he didn't know who he was more frustrated with at the moment. Trixie, for being something he never expected her to be. Dan, for knowing before him. Or himself because he couldn't control this annoying strain of jealousy.

Chalk one up for Mangan. As usual, he was right. And she was glad he was, almost pathetically so. For the first time all evening a true smile graced her face. Trixie stepped forward and gently covered his larger hand with her smaller one. She took it as a good sign when he didn't bolt from the contact. Meeting his gaze squarely, she said simply, "Quite by accident."

"Accident?" he parroted back, his own eyes widening.

She nodded once. "Accident," Trixie confirmed quietly. "In fact, I never told him."

God but it felt good to hear the very last thing he'd expected. Relief started trickling through Jim, chasing away the strands of his foolish bout of jealousy. _She never told Dan_. He squeezed her hand. "You never…really?"

As much as she wanted to explain everything now, she knew better. The clock was ticking away. It was swiftly closing in on eight o'clock and they had somewhere they needed to be. Regretfully, she shook her head, dropped her hand, and spoke urgently, "Jim, we can't waste anymore time. It's not the right moment. We need to get going. We've got an important appointment to keep."

"You're right." He lifted his other hand from the button. The elevator immediately started upwards again, carrying them towards the penthouse floor. "I'll be right here with you, Trix, through it all," he spoke quietly but intensely, meaning it.

Suddenly, the air around them felt much freer and easier. Whatever happened inside with Mr. Young didn't seem as unpredictable or scary anymore. They'd be able to handle it. Together. "I'm glad you will be," she murmured, a becoming pink stealing its way into her cheeks. Hesitating for only a moment, she laid her hand on his forearm, and admitted shyly, looking up at him from under lashes thickly coated with mascara, "So very glad."


	21. Chapter 21

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-One

_So very glad_. Her words shot straight through him, a slice of heaven; sweet, stunning and true. An arm snaked out, wrapped around her waist, tugged her close. Content to stand with her by his side, miraculously at peace with himself and the news Dan accidentally let slip, he watched and waited until they were on the floor to the penthouse. When the doors opened, inviting them out into the hallway, Jim reluctantly dropped his arm from her waist, only to end up holding onto her hand instead.

"We need to smile," Trixie ordered softly, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. She couldn't believe how relaxed she felt around him again; how comfortable, how tranquil. Had someone asked her even an hour ago if she thought they could ever overcome the newest hurdle, her answer would have been an unequivocal no. Now, with Dan's astuteness, her resulting flippant behavior, and Jim's willingness to cave and actually admit what was bothering him the most, her heart felt lighter, surer, and much happier. She pinned a smile on her face, one that deepened the beautiful sapphire blue of her eyes. Standing on tiptoes, she brushed a small kiss on his cheek and whispered lowly, "We need to look happy and excited. Tonight is supposed to be about the realizations of our dreams, the end of our financial problems, the beginning of our future happiness. We have to be ecstatic."

With her kiss still warm on his cheek, he smiled back at her. "Will this work?"

Since it took her breath away, she knew it would. "Yes," she murmured, dazzled by him. Going with the gentleness of the moment, she laid her head on his shoulder and breathed in deeply, simply enjoying the moment. "There's no need to worry. Everything's going to be just fine."

"I know it will." His voice was deep and throaty. He gave in, rubbed his chin over the gilded waterfall that was her curls, reveling in the softness of the texture, the pure sweetness that was her. "This is it, Trix. Let's go do what you do best."

She couldn't have been more astonished. Her mouth bowed open and she dropped back, to stare at him. A close inspection of his face revealed that he wasn't being sarcastic or facetious. He meant it. Because he did, a special spark entered her eyes. Luscious lips in a vibrant shade of red curved. Delighted, she grabbed his hand and led the way towards the front door of the penthouse, an excited bounce to her step. A poke of the doorbell sent the chimes ringing rhythmically.

The door opened before the doorbell had a chance to repeat the musical pattern. The disapproving butler was back, only dressed in more casual attire this time than he had been before. Khaki pants, a white button-down shirt with thin blue stripes, dark brown loafers. Well-dressed and quite casual. "I see you're back," he remarked in his practiced polite tones that weren't polite in the least, not when spoken to them. He stepped back, lowered himself enough to motion them to come inside, and looked down his nose.

She noticed the clothing, and its implication, immediately. Her earlier unsettled suspicions about the meeting returned with an eerie vengeance, carelessly destroying their almost idyllic interlude. She gripped Jim's hand tightly and nodded at the butler but didn't move forward, debating the best move for them. "Do you have special plans for the evening?" she inquired brightly, her mind spinning with many various possibilities. Not many of them were pleasant.

He unbent enough from his lofty perch to nod his head. Stiffly. Since they didn't make a move to enter the penthouse and his night off officially commenced when the antique grandfather clock intoned eight o'clock three minutes earlier, he decided it was his boss's problem, not his. Striding out of the penthouse, he brushed past them. "I believe Mr. Young is awaiting your arrival inside," he offered and walked away from them without a backwards glance.

Her suspicions were right. The butler wasn't going to be there. Her back went ramrod straight. Her eyes frosted with worry. She reached into her purse, pulled out her cell, needing to have it at the ready should it become necessary. Fellow agents were only a quick touch away. She'd put the new app to use without a qualm. There was no way she was putting Jim's well-being in jeopardy. So in tune to her, Jim quickly caught on to her swift change in mood. A dark frown settled on his face.

"Ah! The guests of the evening!" Mr. Young sang out congenially. Arms spread out wide in apparent welcome, he walked towards them, sauntering the entire way, and met them at the entrance, a delighted grin on his face. "Come on in, you two. What are you doing out there, in the hallway? Please, step inside. We've been waiting for you."

Trixie recovered quickly. Ignoring the strange look Jim gifted her with, she pulled her lips into a travesty of a smile. Only someone who truly knew her would have realized how false it was. "We were merely wishing your butler a good evening, Mr. Young. It appears he must have the evening off."

"Every now and then he asks for a Saturday night to himself," Mr. Young admitted, keeping to himself the fact that his butler hadn't requested the evening off but had, instead, been offered it. With full pay. He'd even given the man a fistful of one hundred dollar bills to start him off at the tables in the casino below. He wasn't expected to return until well into the night. "He's so good at his job. I can never bring myself to tell him no."

"You're a good employer," Trixie simpered, offering up the correct answer. Unable to combat the odd shiver that worked its way up her spine, she barely resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. "He's lucky to have you."

Mr. Young preened under the praise. He moved back, gestured for the two of them to enter the penthouse, and closed the door with an ominous click once they did. "Please. Follow me. I'll bring you in to the dining room. Dinner tonight is a specialty of my chef's. I think you're going to enjoy it."

She palmed her cell, ready to tap the handy little app should it be deemed necessary, and moved in front of Jim, wanting to cover him. Mr. Young advanced through the penthouse with a speed she hadn't associated him with, leading them through the spacious and opulently decorated living room. She carefully inspected each aspect of the room but couldn't see anything untoward. No one was around. No one. It was quiet…almost jarringly so. Already nervous, her senses went on full alert.

"You didn't have a chance to see the formal dining room the last time you were here." Mr. Young looked back over his shoulder as he led them through the large and ostentatious living room. "I think you'll enjoy it. There is an absolutely spectacular view of the strip. It's fantastic. You can see everything of importance from here."

"Sounds wonderful," Jim inserted when he realized Trixie wasn't going to offer up anything. He granted her a quizzical look. Understanding dawned quickly. She was uncomfortable with the situation. Extremely so. Because she was wary, he felt it, too. When he noticed the cell in her hand, he shot her another strange look and almost voiced his concerns. A quick, almost imperceptible shake of her head had him swallowing back his question.

Unaware of the signs flinging back and forth between his two guests practically underneath his nose, Mr. Young stopped in the middle of the room to give an appreciative grin. "You better believe it is, Hart. In my opinion, it's the best view the city has to offer. You can feel the city humming at your feet. The gorgeous skyline. All those bright lights. It's something you won't forget, I can promise you that."

Trixie lifted her head. _It's something you won't forget._ The words matched her sinister feeling, in an unpleasantly perfect way. Sweat pooled in her palms while she tried to come up with a way out of the penthouse, a way where she wouldn't raise Mr. Young's suspicions or his ire. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. She was blank.

Mr. Young continued speaking, never thinking twice about the sudden pallor to her cheeks, "The dining room is right through the door. My wife and I don't use the formal room a lot. We prefer to eat our meals on the enclosed terrace or in the comfortable little nook in our kitchen. We only use it when we have very special guests over." He stressed the word special on purpose and gifted them with another large, toothy smile.

The compliment should have sounded sincere. The accompanying smile should have looked genuine. Neither did, not to her. Bright, bright red flags were rippling before her eyes, warning her to proceed with extreme care. Pale with worry, Trixie demurred because it was expected of her but the color refused to re-enter her face. "Thank you, Mr. Young."

"Oh, it's my pleasure. Believe me." Mr. Young bent down and gallantly reached for her hand. He pressed a swift kiss to the top, never realized the effort it cost her not to snap her hand back, and tugged her towards the room. The door was closed. "This is it. My cook made a wonderful eggplant parmigiana for dinner." He stopped to sniff the air. "Hmm. Can you smell it? It's too die for good."

"I can smell it." Trixie forced the happiest possible tone to her voice. It sounded tenuous at best. "Is it as good as the beef stroganoff?"

"Better." He tossed a wink her way, let go of her hand. Five feet from the doorway, his cell let out a musical chirp. He pulled it out, frowned down at it. A pre-arranged text message from Ritch. _We're ready_ was all it said. He tapped a finger against his chin, apparently in deep thought, and suggested, an apologetic expression on his face, "I'm really sorry for the delay, guys. I'm going to need to respond to this text right away. Why don't you head on in and get settled? I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Okay." Trixie's heart rate sped up. Already knowing she wasn't going to like what she found behind the door, she approached it with an unusual sort of trepidation that normally didn't assault her on a mission. It didn't help that they had the unknown ahead and the known behind. It certainly didn't help that she had Jim at her side. And then there was the fact that they were going to be sandwiched between Mr. Young and whoever was inside the room. Realizing that she could be putting Jim in a potentially precarious situation made her extra cautious. She tossed a slanted glance over her shoulder; saw Mr. Young with his back to them, apparently busy with a phone call. Holding her cell with one hand, she carefully felt for the gun hidden within the lining of her purse. Her free hand closed over it while she nodded at Jim to open the door.

Jim sucked in a deep breath. She looked composed. She looked relaxed. She appeared to be comfortable. Looks were deceiving. Whether it came from their adolescent years of working on mysteries together or more from his own innate sense of all that was Trixie, he knew. When she nodded again, he slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. It opened soundlessly. It felt like even the air had turned stagnant.

Trixie put out a hand to prevent him from entering first. "Let me," she murmured, wanting to be the first one in, needing to get the best view of whatever pleasant or unpleasant surprises were awaiting them inside the room. She didn't give him a chance to refuse.

The first thing she noticed upon stepping over the threshold was the smell of the food. Mr. Young wasn't lying about that. Four sets of covered silver platters were placed out invitingly on the table. The light from the large chandelier above reflected off the silver tops, gleaming bright, almost blinding. A large Waterford vase sat sentinel in the center of the table. Countless tulips in multiple colors cheerfully poked their way out of it. One worry down. It really was the formal dinner room. And he really was offering dinner. To them? She couldn't be certain. Not yet.

She took another step forward, sent a long searching glance to the left, quickly cataloguing it. Another door; closed. Probably led straight to the kitchen, she mused inwardly, for the ease of the staff in serving the meal. It was the only other exit/entrance to the room. She lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at the right side of the room.

Then all she felt was a jolt. Something hard, unexpected, pressed right to the center of her upper back. The pain. Immense. One long, low gasp of sheer and total shock. Her purse slipped from fingers unable to hold onto the strap any longer. Her cell clattered next, landing on the gleaming hardwood floor. Without a word, without a warning, her legs buckled and she fell, too. She tried to brace herself but couldn't. Her hands refused to obey the mental order to move. She landed on the floor in an ungraceful heap. Her head grazed the wall, made solid contact with the floor. She could feel the bump on the back of her head but her hands wouldn't move to touch it. And her legs…she wanted to stand up again, she truly did, but they wouldn't move either. Her body truly felt like it had been turned to stone. Nothing moved. Nothing worked.

Panic briefly overwhelmed her. Then she ordered her mind to calm down, to start to figure out what had happened. Since her eyes were the only thing that she seemed to have any control over, she flicked them off to the side, saw a pair of rugged mountain boots close by her face. A low, fierce growl of pure, unadulterated fury came from behind, one she immediately recognized as belonging to Jim, and then the owner of the mountain boots was slammed back a good five feet and collided into an ornamental table. Wood skittered, splintered. Glass clinked, toppled, and then smashed on the floor. She closed her eyes. Luckily, none of the glass came near her. Something else did, though. Something hard slipped out of the unknown assailant's hands, rolled to a stop next to her purse. Squinting, she stared at the black object, realized what exactly had been used on her.

Dwelling in that realm well beyond fury, Jim threw off another man who had come up from behind to trying to restrain him. A vicious snarl emanated from his lips, an uncivilized sound he'd never thought he could ever produce. He crouched down protectively in front of Trixie, keeping a hand on her waist. The first man he'd tossed halfway across the room started to move forward, ready for round two. He shook his head, glared, and declared in a low, threatening voice, "Don't even think about it."

Ritch dusted off the seat of his pants and wiped away the thin trail of blood coming from his nose. Never had he expected Hart to have such a strong left hand punch. Never had he expected him to show such anger, either. He'd classified the redhead as relatively harmless. It looked like he was going to have to rethink his analysis. Gingerly, he felt the side of his face. Already starting to swell. His eyes narrowed dangerously on the couple. The woman was already incapacitated, wouldn't be moving of her own free will for quite some time. Hart…well, he was looking a little too healthy. Evening the score seemed like a wonderful idea. He took a menacing step forward, meaning to do just that, only to have his intentions brought up short. His face pulled back in a sneer, much like a dog would when it reached the end of its chain, but he obeyed. Reluctantly.

"What do we have here?" Mr. Young sang out gaily from the doorway, obviously pleased by the sight before him. He made a small tsking sound, shook a finger in the direction of Ritch, and motioned towards the couple. "Ritch. Ritch. Ritch. Honestly. What were you thinking? Is this any way to treat our guests?"

Although he despised doing it, he managed to regain control. Ritch watched dispassionately as Jim gently cradled Trixie in his arms. Since he wasn't going to get any satisfaction right now, he dropped back. Broken glass crunched under his boots. "Guests, no," he answered, well-versed with how his employer had planned on handling the situation. Everything had been carefully planned out, from the very beginning to the various possible endings. "But there's a slight problem. We're not certain how to classify our visitors anymore. Are they guests? Maybe. Or they could be considered something else."

Rocking back on his heels, Mr. Young pretended to ponder the answer. "Hmm…Excellent point there. Absolutely excellent. We don't know if we have guests, liars, or downright enemies in this room with us right now." He lifted a shoulder, walked past the two sitting on the floor as if he didn't know they were there, and skirted around the large dining room table.

Ritch leaned down and picked up the small item he'd used to immobilize the woman. He quickly checked her over. She was breathing and she was aware. She wasn't moving, though. And she wouldn't be, not for a long time to come. Delighted with his night's work so far, he leered at her, completely ignoring the waves of anger emanating from her fiancé. While not physically incapacitated at the moment, Hart couldn't do anything right now. Whistling, he joined Mr. Young at the side bar. Getting into the spirit of the evening, he posed the next question, "How are we going to decide who, exactly, we have visiting with us this evening?"

Acting as if the two objects of their conversation weren't currently in the room with them, Mr. Young poured a glass full of his favored wine and offered it to Ritch. After pouring another one for himself, he pulled out a chair and sat down. Sniffing the air; he placed an expensive lace napkin on his lap, lifted the cover off his dinner and began cutting his eggplant parmigiana into tiny, precise squares. Only then did he answer the question. "So far, we have met our first criteria. Hart and Johnson have to know by now we're seriously displeased with them."

"You could say that again," Ritch answered jovially. Copying his employer's movements, he sat down at the table. Both men had a perfect view of the couple.

Trixie heard everything. She listened as attentively as possible, doing her best to overlook the annoying fact that she didn't have any control over her body. It could have been much worse, of that she had no doubt. The small electro-shock device hadn't been allowed to show the depths of its true power. She'd obviously only been given a minor dose, just enough to incapacitate but not enough to continually hurt. When she saw Jim reach for her cell phone, she gathered all her strength to shake her head. It wasn't much of a shake, more of a small tilt to the side, but it worked. Surprised, he looked down at her, concern evident on his handsome face. It took a huge effort but she forced her mouth to form the single word. "No," she whispered hoarsely, already coming to the conclusion that having her fellow agents burst in on the situation wouldn't be in their best interest. Not with her immobile and an armed set of heavies who'd appeared out of nowhere to guard each doorway. Neither she nor Jim would stand a chance.

He followed her eyes, frowned at the burly men and noted the presence of their weapons. "Yeah. I get it," he mumbled back, understanding without words that they were at a serious disadvantage. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that Trixie would have been able to get the two of them out of the situation, had she not been taken down. He clasped her closer, kissed her on the forehead, and sent an icy glare of hatred towards the two men sitting at the table, who were calmly eating their meal as if they didn't have a set of guests watching them from the floor.

"I see our darling girl over there is enjoying her present," Ritch noted jovially.

After thoughtfully chewing his most recent bite of the delicious meal, Mr. Young deliberately laid down his fork. Although he only spared a short glance in their direction, he took everything in. Turning back to Ritch, he corrected, "I'm not sure if enjoying is the right word, Ritch. She doesn't look all that comfortable right now. And her fiancé? Well, he seems mad. Livid, even. Tell me again what you gave to her. I'm curious."

Ritch felt the burning emerald eyes of the furious man upon him. The promise of retribution of equal or greater force was definitely there, couldn't be ignored. It unsettled him. He chose to shrug it off and lifted the black item in his hand. "Do you remember this useful item, Mr. Young? We acquired it a while back. We haven't found a buyer yet who'd like to purchase the prototype, though. No one has agreed to meet our price. So we truly have the only one currently in existence."

"It is a clever little thing," Mr. Young agreed after forking some more of the delicious smelling food into his mouth. "It's come in handy a few times since it's come into our possession."

Ritch turned it over, inspecting it closely. "It's better than a taser. In fact, it's the best electro-shock weapon out there. It has to be. Not only does it completely immobilize all victims immediately on contact and sends them straight to the ground, rendering them totally helpless, it also keeps them there for a much longer time than the mere minutes caused by the taser," he concluded with an ugly little laugh.

"How did she get to be the lucky one?" Eyebrows lifted, he waited for the answer

Ritch carelessly lifted a shoulder. "I wasn't picky. I figured I'd share it with the first one who came through the door. It turned out to be her. Fortunate girl." He took a leisurely sip of his wine, followed by a large forkful of his dinner. Then he reached over, ripped a roll in half and calmly started buttering it. "She didn't get a full blast, though. I had it set on the lowest possible setting. All she's experiencing right now is minor compared to what she could be experiencing. She simply can't move. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're right. It could have been much worse." Mr. Young idly swirled the red liquid in his glass, raised it in a silent, mocking salute to Jim and Trixie, the first time he'd acknowledged their presence. "I can say that the evening could be termed a success so far. We certainly have the attention of our…ah…guests. We can easily assume that they both must understand the seriousness of their current situation. Don't you think so, Ritch?"

"Definitely. But let's ask them for their input." A satisfied curl tugged up his lips. "Hart? Johnson? What are your thoughts?"

"Go to hell." Quietly uttered but with a great deal of serious heat behind it. He turned his shoulder on the two, wrapped his arms around her in order to offer the only protection that he could. He placed her cell phone on the floor, right next to them, to allow her fellow agents the best possible view. Her purse he kept hidden, behind her back. He snuck a hand into it, found the presence of her gun. Carefully, he began working its way free from the lining. Just in case.

Ritch turned back to Mr. Young, eyebrows raised and a pleased glint to his eyes. "While we didn't hear a thing from Johnson over there, I think it's safe to say that she understands the seriousness of their position. Hart, who we did hear from, sounds extremely ticked off right now."

Mr. Young leaned back in his seat. A deep chuckle shook his chest, rumbled out and filled the air. He clapped Ritch on the shoulder. "I agree with you there. I certainly do. Hart's going to have to get his feelings under control though since he's the one who's going to have to field all of our questions. We'll be reaching stage two of the evening soon, you know. Inquisition."

"After dinner?" Ritch inquired hopefully. He gestured towards their half-eaten dinner, felt his stomach rumble. "I always enjoy a good inquisition much better after a full stomach."

"By all means. After dinner it is." Mr. Young turned enough in his chair so that he wasn't staring directly at Jim and Trixie any longer. He pitched his voice lower, intentionally keeping it softer so Jim and Trixie couldn't hear them, and began a murmured discussion on the rest of their plans for the evening.

Trixie closed her eyes, trying to battle her frustrations with her immobility. Whoever created this weapon had more than improved upon the taser. She didn't have the ability to move, couldn't string together two coherent syllables, let alone attempt to talk. In essence, she was completely and totally defenseless. There were only two things she still retained the ability to do: breathe and think. Grateful for the wall of strength Jim provided her, she gave up trying to regain control of her muscles and listened to the rhythm of his heart, in desperate need of something positive and strong to focus on.

Feeling her pain, her desperation, and, even worse, her defeat, Jim dropped his head on top of hers and nuzzled the curls. He murmured a low string of supportive, encouraging words, right by her ear, quiet enough so only she could hear, and was rewarded with a small sigh. The sight of her hand lying limply against her thigh made his fury resurge. He gently reached around, picked it up, and laced their fingers together, hoping to infuse some of his strength into her. He breathed in deeply, her lovely berry-scented shampoo tickling his nose, and whispered while the two men continued their meal at the table, "We'll get through this, Trix. You've got my word."

Somehow she managed to move her head. It was small, nearly unnoticeable. He felt it. It took a few tries but she made her lips form the word. "You," she said, her voice hoarse, rough and rasping, hoping he understood what she was trying to get across.

He understood. Resting his chin on top of her head, he vowed, "I'll do it. I'll say whatever it takes to get us out of here. You can trust me." Jim tightened his hold on her. He started to draw small circles on her hand, concentrating on the softness of her skin, the small wispy breaths escaping her lips, the even rise and fall of her chest. The male voices from the bastards above droned around and beyond him. He didn't attempt to listen in, not particularly caring about anything the two had to say. Instead, he focused on what was coming next. Inquisition. Soon. He had to be ready for it, to field all their questions and create the best possible answers. And he wasn't leaving Trixie's side. They were in it together.

When chairs scraped back and twin dark shadows loomed above, Jim went with defiance and refused to look up at them. He found more pleasure in staring down at Trixie's hand held securely within his. He held on, waited for them to begin whatever it was they had in mind next, while fury like he'd never experienced before ate away at him.

"Here, Ritch? Or my office?" Mr. Young inclined his head to the side, looked down his nose at the two cozied up on the floor. There was one thing he already knew with a certainty. Whatever the two were, whatever they turned out to be, he was one hundred percent convinced that they were truthful about their feelings for each other. It was evidenced in the way Hart was holding onto his girl; in the way she was resting against him. Their relationship was solid, not a front for some inexplicable, unexplained reason. "Where do you think would be best for the question and answer period?"

"Why don't you take Hart to your office? I'll be glad to watch over Johnson, if you'd like," Ritch offered, a smile that could only be termed slimy tipping his lips up. "We can stay here. I'll take good care of her."

Jim snapped his eyes, revolted by the very thought. Max's warning from the beginning of the mission rang clearly through his mind. He offered up one word, one word only. "Never."

Mr. Young's eyebrows lifted. He'd already seen the bruise forming on Ritch's face, as well as the tell-tale trace of leftover blood. He himself had felt the anger directed at them from Hart for what they had done to Trixie. And now Hart was staring at them through cold eyes that promised serious retribution. He didn't take offense. It actually impressed him, made him see one James W. Hart in a new light. He hadn't pegged him as a fighter. Filing away the information, he suggested evenly, "We'll all stay here. You and Johnson look pretty comfortable on the floor. We'll allow you to keep your spots as our doormats. You're doing marvelously well at it."

Disappointment flickered briefly in Ritch's eyes before he accepted his boss's decision. He pivoted around, stomped over to the sidebar, and returned with two laptops. He put one in front of Mr. Young, set the other one up in front of himself, and sat in the chair Mr. Young motioned for him to take. "I have everything we need to begin," he said, sounding snubbed.

"As I said before, we are now at stage two," Mr. Young began, acting like he was running a complicated board meeting instead of dancing around the fate of the two literally sitting before him. "We will ask the questions. You, Hart, will provide all the answers."

Sitting on the floor with their two inquisitors frowning down at them left him at a distinct disadvantage. Being called by a last name, and a last name that wasn't his, only made it more so. Having Trixie pressed against his side gave him the courage to listen, to think, and to vow to respond in any way that would get them out of this current situation safely. Lying? He nearly snorted at the thought. He'd do it, and then some, to get Trixie away from these two. Glowering, he sneered, "What are your questions?"

"Now, now, Hart. There is no need to be hostile," Mr. Young chastised, wagging a finger at him and woefully shaking his head at the same time. In a long-suffering voice, he continued, "After all, you were invited into my home. Twice. A fine dinner was served, in your presence, I must add, and now you are being afforded the chance to defend yourselves. Truly, that is a lot. You must know I don't always offer such a chance to others who have lost my trust."

"I appreciate it," Jim muttered through clenched teeth. His tone said it all. He didn't appreciate it, not in the least.

"Good." Mr. Young nodded, knowing that was the only amount of cooperation he was going to get out of the man. It still surprised him, that strength of steel. He hadn't pegged it. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he shot out the first point of contention. "Here is the first issue. This morning, my right-hand man, Ritch, had a conversation with one of the hotel clerks downstairs. Her name happens to be Maria. She checked your fiancée in. She also talked to you the afternoon you checked in with the concierge, too. She brought to light a slight inconsistency to us." He took a deep breath for effect. "Tell me, Hart. Why did you check in only a few minutes after Beatrix Johnson did? You successfully explained away the two different room numbers a while back but never brought up this issue. I need an answer…a satisfactory answer. I need it now."

A highly gifted liar he was not but Jim pulled out all the stops. With Trixie's well-being on the line, he strove for perfection. Keeping his face expressionless, only allowing the anger he was feeling to be revealed by the flickers of heat within the deepening emerald of his eyes, he concentrated completely on the feel of Trixie. The lie fell off of his lips, as smooth as the butter melting on the silver trays on the table. "It was all part of the surprise. I came in on another flight, landed a few minutes after Trixie's. I even saw her exiting the lobby. I wanted the surprise of our suite to be just right so I didn't try to catch up with her then." He threw in a shrug, paired it up with another glare. "That's all. There wasn't anything devious or nefarious to it. I merely wanted to surprise my fiancée."

Ritch cued up his laptop. All business now, he clipped out, wanting the details, "You said you came in on another flight. Where did you come in from?"

Since he was glancing down at the halo of blonde curls spread across his chest, Jim was able to successfully hide his surprise. Hoping that Max and the rest of Trixie's agents were listening in and able to make his lies a reality, he called out the first city that came into his mind. "San Francisco. I was there for a job interview."

Mr. Young put his hands behind his head. He arched an eyebrow at Ritch and ordered, "Check the flights for Wednesday."

Ritch's fingers flew across the keyboard. Using his superior computer skills, he accessed the airport's schedule for Wednesday, saw a flight from LA that he knew from past research that Beatrix Johnson, and only Beatrix Johnson, had arrived on. Then he started scrolling down. After a moment, he nodded. "James W. Hart. He's listed on a flight from San Francisco," he murmured, confirming the information. "It's here, Mr. Young. It arrived twelve minutes after her flight."

It was the first sign Jim had that Trixie's friends were working on the other end, most likely furiously, to get them out of here. He let out a low, controlled breath. They were keeping up with him. "I told you," he growled, going for belligerent. "We've done absolutely nothing to deserve the treatment you've given us today. Nothing."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Mr. Young tossed a patronizing smile down at the hostile man literally reclining at his feet. "It's business. When it comes to business, I don't take any chances. None at all. You'll have to excuse me."

"No, I don't," Jim shot back, letting a little of the famous Frayne temper loose. It felt good.

The insolence didn't bother him. Mr. Young laughed, slapped a hand on his knee, and suggested, "Well, how about this. If you clear up all of my questions and worries, I'll be glad to make you an offer. Twice what you're asking. It'll be my apology for putting you and your lovely fiancée through this slight…inconvenience."

Jim wanted to tell him to take that offer and shove it somewhere painful but Trixie sighed again. He got the picture. "We'll think about it," he grumbled. "For some reason, I can't discuss it with Trix. She's not in the best shape right now."

He felt the recrimination but let it roll off of him in the same way water slipped off the back of a duck. Resiliency. There was nothing like it. "Let's see about issue number two." Mr. Young turned back to his laptop. He called up the surveillance tape and quickly showed the first tape he found bothersome. "This is the beginning of it. Look. Right here." A finger tapped as a handsome man entered the hotel. "This unknown man came into the hotel's lobby today. Early afternoon, I do believe."

"1:05 PM," Ritch supplied helpfully.

"Yes. You're right." Steepling his fingers, Mr. Young studied the time. "We haven't been able to piece together where he came from, what he's doing here, or even where he went after he talked to your girl outside of the bar. But you can help us right now. Let me warn you. Don't even think about lying. I know he's acquainted with your girl. What's his name?"

Truly hoping he was giving the right answers, saying the right things, Jim's mind whirled with possibilities. Obviously, Dan was the second issue. He recalled how they came by their present names, decided it would work for Dan, too. Simple and sweet, as Trixie had advised him earlier. It would be easy for them to remember too. "Daniel Regan," he answered quickly.

"Daniel Regan." Mr. Young leaned back in his chair and repeated the name. "Daniel Regan. Good, strong name there. Sounds Irish. Tell me more about Daniel Regan. I want to know everything that you know. Now."

"I don't know much," Jim began, hedging as much as he could. Grateful Ritch wasn't yet typing in his computer, wasn't starting to search out a Daniel Regan, he explained slowly, "I know he's an ex of Trix's. That's all. Short and simple. I didn't know about their relationship until she confessed it to me when we went back to the room."

Hitting the scroll bar, Mr. Young moved forward until the incident from outside the bar was flashing before them in all its bright glory that rivaled anything ever put out with Technicolor. "I see. I see." He hummed, watched it again with a new insight. It made sense, truly it did. An ex. Pleased with the beginning of the explanation, he pointed to the embrace, the one Dan seemed to be enjoying way more than Johnson. "Ritch, that would explain why she wasn't enthusiastic about the hug."

"Also, it would tell us why she pulled Hart away at the end. She never even let him talk to Daniel Regan. If I remember correctly, she looked worried, too." Ritch frowned at the scene, not sold on the explanation yet. The answer almost seemed too…pat. He'd like to know more. Much more.

"You're frowning," Mr. Young noted curiously.

"I don't know. Ex-boyfriend fits but…" Ritch lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. You're right." His eyes snapped back to Jim. "We need more. Job, history, their relationship. All that stuff. Start talking. We'll do the checking."

"If it gets us out of here, you better believe I'll tell you. Anything you want." A hundred different possibilities started swirling through his mind. Hundreds of them. Working hard to appear calm and in control, Jim quickly discarded the most unrealistic ones of all. Hoping the CDA could keep up with him, he took a deep breath.

"We're listening." Mr. Young picked up his favored silver monogrammed pen. Rolling it between his fingers, he watched Jim with the cool intensity a cobra gave its prey right before it struck.

Jim exhaled his deep breath slowly. "I believe he works for a dealership; selling cars. At least, that's what he did when he dated Trixie. When he lived in LA. Trix told me that was just his day job, though. According to her, he was actually waiting for his big break or something like that."

"Actor, huh?" Mr. Young started to methodically click and unclick his pen, a sure sign that he was judging the veracity of Jim's explanation.

"I think. She could answer this better than I could, though. Someone made sure she can't right now." He aimed a killer of a glare at Ritch.

Ritch threw up his hands, not feeling the least bit of guilt over the whole escapade. Truth to tell, he'd enjoyed watching her collapse to the ground. "Hey, don't look at me, Hart. It could just as easily have been you if you'd been the first one to come into the room. It was simply the luck of the draw, man. The luck of the draw."

"Don't get off track here." Mr. Young admonished. "So, he's a car dealer by day, an actor by night. Lived in LA. Does he still live there?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't think things worked out well for him there. Trix said that the last she heard he'd given up the acting bug and moved away. She didn't know where, though."

Mr. Young held up his hand, preventing any other flow of words. "That's enough for us to work on. Type it in, Ritch. Where did Daniel Regan move to?"

Ritch did as requested. "Three men with the same name have popped up so far," he explained as he started investigating the names. "First one, Daniel R. Regan…yeah, not our guy. Fifty-eight and lives in Portland, Oregon. Second one, one Daniel S. Regan…could be him. Let me dig a little deeper." Frowning, he concentrated on the info appearing on the computer screen. "There's not much here. Says he drives for a trucking company, has an apartment in Phoenix. Age would be…forty-three."

"That's not him." Mr. Young shook his head. "Let's hear the bio on the last one."

Jim sent up a prayer, hoping that Trixie's fellow agents had enough time to complete a history on one Daniel Regan. It hadn't taken them long to come up with one for him. He wasn't certain if five minutes was enough time, though. His heart rate increased with each second that passed by.

"Daniel Thomas Regan. Born in Three Springs, South Dakota. Small town. Population: under one thousand. Moved to LA a few years back. Had a few small roles in some television shows, a recurring role on a now-defunct soap opera, appeared in a couple of commercials. Nothing big, it seems, and nothing within the past couple of years. He worked as a bouncer, worked for…oh, here it is…Ford. And currently resides in…Santa Barbara. It looks like he was transferred down there from the dealership. As you said, acting did not work out well for him." Satisfied they hit on the right person, he winked at Mr. Young.

"I'm telling you right now. There was no reason for all of this." Jim barely held onto the leash of his temper. "No reason at all. We have answers for all your questions. All of them," he stressed strongly. "You've made a huge mistake."

"It's not only about the answers, Hart, although that is arguably a good deal of it. No, the real issue here is trust. I don't work well without it. And if someone has destroyed the trust I've decided to put in them…" Mr. Young let the sentence hanging. There wasn't any need to finish it. "Neither you or your girl are out of the clear yet, either. While it seems like we've cleared up the identity of the mystery man, there's still more I'd like to know. Tell me more about the relationship he had with Trixie. It's blatantly obvious that she didn't want you to run into him." He pointed to the computer. There was a frozen shot, of Trixie grabbing his arm and pulling him away and Dan watching them leave. "Why?"

"Like I explained to you a few minutes ago, I didn't know about him." Jim strove to make his tone jealous instead of angry. His face flushed with the effort. "Trix hadn't told me about their relationship before today. She knows I have a jealous streak in me. She tries to hold it at bay whenever possible."

"Fair enough." Mr. Young accepted the answer with a stiff nod. "I can understand that one. Your fiancée is smart, blonde and very attractive. I can see you having some trouble with jealousy."

"So she dragged me away before I saw him. She didn't want me to cause a scene. I knew something was up with her but didn't get an answer until we got back to our room." Jim spoke almost accusingly. "That's it. There's nothing else to the scene but that."

"Ah. I take it you didn't know about their history as a couple when I called you earlier. If you recall, you told me some man hit on her. Nothing more, nothing less," Mr. Young reminded him, wondering if he'd found a loophole in Jim's explanation. "You lied to me, Hart."

Jim ran his free hand through his hair. The other gripped Trixie to his chest, offering her support at the same time he was taking it from her. "Look. I didn't lie. I truly believed it at the time. We'd just gotten back to our room when you called. She didn't have enough time to tell me more." He blew out a frustrated breath.

"Again. Fair enough." Contemplating the answer, Mr. Young couldn't come up with any weaknesses. It fit. It truly did. His forehead wrinkled while he deferred to Ritch, who picked up the next round of questioning.

Ritch caught the unspoken request. Realizing his boss needed some time to digest what he'd learned so far, he asked, "Where did Mr. Daniel T. Regan disappear to? We can't find him anywhere in the hotel. He's gone."

"I don't know." Jim ran a comforting hand up and down Trixie's back. He could feel the tension in her body, as well as her own frustration with not being able to handle any part of the inquisition. Frowning at Ritch, he added, "To tell you the truth, I don't really care where he is. He's not around Trix. That's all that matters to me."

"You know, we can always check with Maria at the front desk," Ritch said after a moment of contemplative silence.

Mr. Young put down his pen. Although he already knew where Ritch was leading them to, he affected an interested expression. "Why do you say that?"

"I followed up with this part of the story." He scrolled along the bottom of the bar, brought the surveillance tape back to the very beginning and tapped on the screen. "You see? Right here. It's Daniel Regan. He's talking to Maria, our very friendly and peppy clerk. You made quite an impression on her, Hart. She liked you a lot," he added in an aside, winking at him. "She wasn't too impressed with your fiancée, though."

Jim choose not to respond. In a show of blatant insolence, he dropped the hated man's gaze, gathered Trixie ever closer, and braced himself for the next set of questions. They were gearing up for something. A sneaking suspicion slipped through. If they were going to bring up what he thought there were going to bring up, he truly hoped that the CDA was as good as Trixie and Dan claimed them to be.

"The first thing her ex did when he arrived was to approach the front desk. No surprise there. It's a pretty normal occurrence when someone enters a hotel," Ritch said with a chuckle, amused with his own wry humor. "He talked to Maria, flirted a little with her. Then he kept asking for someone who he thought was registered here with the hotel."

His suspicions were dead-on accurate. Schooling his features, Jim prepared himself for his actual name to be said. _No response, no response, no response _kept running through his mind. Do not respond. Going for bored, he declared, "He was probably looking for some girl. Trixie told me he wasn't the best of boyfriends. According to her, he was a little too free with other women. That's why she broke up with him. She found out that he was cheating on her."

"Who was he looking for? Was it a girl?" Mr. Young spoke calmly, even friendly, but the harsh look to his eyes gave him away.

"Nope. Not a girl. Ironically enough, he was looking for someone named James. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?" Ritch didn't take his eyes off Jim, watched him closely and made a mental note of every reaction. "Two men named James, in the same place, the same hotel. Interesting, if you ask me."

Jim idly started playing with one of Trixie's curls. "Did he find him?" he wondered aloud.

"Nah. According to Maria, the person he was looking for doesn't have a reservation here." Ritch turned back to Mr. Young, dropped the name. "James Frayne. He was looking for a James Frayne."

"Check him out." An interesting coincidence, just as Ritch described. He wasn't one for coincidences. Mr. Young stood up, walked over to the computer, and stared down at the screen.

Trixie let out a tiny breath. Oh, no. Oh, no. She'd forgotten to tell Max about that little tidbit. Mentally berating herself, wondering how she could have forgotten something so crucial, she chewed on the inside of her mouth, hating the lifeless, limp feel to her limbs. Absolutely despised it. Having something else to think about certainly helped, even if it was her own huge glaring mistake. She prayed, quick and hard, that either Max or Shane were able to rectify her mistake, and swiftly. Otherwise, they were doomed.

Jim let go of the curl. He didn't say a word, didn't want to draw any attention back to them. Instead, he tucked his hand back into her purse. Long fingers curled over the gun. Her gun. A finger touched the safety, ready to flick it off should it became necessary, and watched the other two carefully, waiting, just waiting, to see what they found, gauging their reaction. Hopefully they wouldn't come across his picture. Hopefully.

"There seem to be a lot of James Fraynes out there. Five have come up," Mr. Young noted out loud as Ritch clicked on the first one that showed up. He rubbed his chin, pondering the importance of the name. It could mean nothing, like it appeared to. It most certainly could. But…there was one thing he did know. He wasn't going to leave any stone unturned; not now, not when certain doubt had been cast. Even if the two came through it all with flying colors, he would much rather prefer being safe over sorry. He'd simply make good on his promise to double the asking price. A small price to pay for forgiveness. After all, money was their driving force. They'd be able to forgive just about anything for the right price. "Has she ever mentioned a James Frayne to you, Hart?"

The lie came surprisingly easily. "No. She never has."

"Well, she never mentioned a Daniel Regan to you until today, either," Ritch pointed out sardonically, lifting his head up from the screen. He studied the incapacitated woman, then suggested with a cruel twist to his lips, "Maybe we should ask her."

Immediately liking the suggestion, Mr. Young slowly stood up from his chair. He took three careful, measured steps towards the couple who'd spent the past hour on the floor and crouched down in front of them. Ignoring Jim altogether, he reached out, tilted her chin up. He correctly read the flare of defiance in her eyes. It pleased him to see it; showed him that she had as much spirit as he'd imagined her to have. Even though it was beginning to look like the couple was completely innocent and exactly who they portrayed themselves to be, he didn't feel an ounce of regret for his actions. He had to be sure. "Hello, my dear. I understand you once dated a Daniel Regan. He's in Las Vegas, apparently looking for a James Frayne. Do you know anyone by that name?"

"No," she breathed out raspily, her mouth working hard to form the single word. The touch of his hand on her made her skin crawl. Had she been able to, she would have jerked away from him. As it was, she didn't have to. Jim took over for her. His hands settled at her shoulders. Tenderly, but forcefully, he pulled her away from the other man's touch.

While he could have held on, he let go, met Jim's glare with a mocking grin, and spread his hands out but not in apology. He truly didn't feel the need to apologize. "I've got to cover my bases here, Hart. You're going to have to forgive me, you know. I can't work with people I don't trust. I simply can't."

A scowl was his only response. Jim chomped down on an imaginative response that used a lot of coarse and non-family friendly words. Long fingers touched her chin, hoping to eradicate the memory of Mr. Young's recent touch on her.

Ritch leaned forward, furiously clicking and reading each tidbit that came up on the computer. "Nothing all that interesting has came up so far. I've finished choice number 3. Onto number 4 right now," he mumbled, more to himself. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Mr. Young, come on over. Here's one possible match…a twenty-seven year old, soon to be twenty-eight. Works for a business. Out of New York…City," he tacked on, after reading more.

Although it was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done, Jim kept a vicious hold on his emotions. His face remained impassive. He ordered himself to stay still, to not react to anything that was revealed, and held Trixie even tighter. The gun was at the ready, in his hand, hidden in her purse. In that moment, it was as clear as the Waterford vase that served as the centerpiece on the table. He would shoot. To kill, if needed. If it saved Trixie, if it saved him, hell, he would do it. And, for the first time, he felt a complete and total understanding for Trixie, for her job, for her need for secrecy, for everything. A peculiar place to have an epiphany, especially one of this magnitude, but it was there, and he was strangely grateful for it.

"I'm calling up a picture right now." He turned the computer screen towards Mr. Young, jabbed a finger when the picture surfaced. "This could be the man Daniel Regan was searching for."

Hoping his own face wasn't staring back at him, Jim slowly lifted his head up and glanced at the screen. Relief, blessed, wonderful relief, immediately coursed through him. The CDA, it seemed, could work like hell on fire when the situation warranted it. A tall, blonde man, about fifty pounds overweight, looked back. Brown eyes. Blonde hair. Looked nothing like him. Nothing at all. He breathed an inward sigh of relief and slumped back against the wall, taking Trixie with him. He knew she was relieved, too. She nuzzled her head against his chest and relaxed against him.

"He heads up the personnel department for a local Mercedes-Benz dealership out of Manhattan." He closed out the screen. Connecting the dots, he inferred, "It looks to me like Daniel Regan's looking to make a change. I wouldn't be surprised at all if he's trying to meet up with this Frayne fellow to discuss a possible job offer. Maybe he's ready to turn in California for New York."

Trixie flexed a finger. Then she realized what she had done. Testing, she flexed another. It actually moved, filling her with surprise. Full movement wasn't coming back; wouldn't be there for a long time yet, but feeling was returning. She flexed it again, her fingers curling around Jim's. She couldn't grip his hand as tightly as she wanted. And she felt about as weak as a newborn kitten. But her strength would return. Until then, she had Jim.

He jolted at the contact. For the first time since they stepped foot into the penthouse, he smiled, an honest-to-goodness smile. Leaning down, he brushed a small kiss on her cheekbone. "Good for you, Trix," he mumbled quietly, for her ears only. "I'm proud of you."

Her voice was still raspy. It took an almost insane amount of concentration but she made her facial muscles move. She whispered back, managing to give life to a whole sentence, "I'm proud of you, too, Jim."

Oblivious to their quiet exchange, Mr. Young picked up the checklist and studied it. All points had been covered. All answers seemed to be perfect. There was one more thing he wanted to check, though. One small, tiny, nearly insignificant item. They hadn't run them yet, hadn't seen the need to, but he wasn't going to overlook it now. One simply never knew. Since doubt had reared its ugly head, he wasn't going to ignore it now. He glanced up, allowed a travesty of a smile to cross his face. "All right. Hart, you've given us some serious peace. I'll give you that. However, since I've had to endure this scare, I really want more. No, let me rephrase that. I demand more peace. There is one more thing you and Johnson must do for me before I can let you leave."

Ritch cocked his head to the side, curious. He hadn't been informed about another hurdle for the couple to jump over. He'd thought they were finished. "What do you need them to do now, Mr. Young?"

"Fingerprints," he replied immediately. "We need fingerprints. We purchased an amazing program a few years back. It's truly one-of-a-kind. No one else has anything like it. It contains the identifying marks for practically everyone in the world…or at least anyone who's ever owned a driver's license."

"What do you mean?" Jim glared at the man.

"I don't need to go into specifics, Hart. Let's just say that this little program has all kinds of information in it, whether you ever realized you were fingerprinted or not." He jerked his head towards his right-hand man. "Call up our program, Ritch. Get your equipment. I want to make certain our…guests are exactly who they say they are."

"So, we're back to being guests, are we?" Jim inquired sarcastically, hoping to buy a little more time. Fingerprints? Had the CDA thought to cover up their fingerprints? He watched curiously as Ritch left the room, only to return a few minutes later with a small black pad.

"Almost," Mr. Young remarked in that jovial tone Jim absolutely despised. He accepted the pad from Ritch and approached the couple again. "Really, this is a slight oversight on our part. We should have taken care of this earlier. There just didn't seem to be a point." He sighed, long and loud. "We thought we could trust you from the very beginning."

"You can trust us," Jim insisted through clenched teeth. "We never gave you a single reason not to."

He ignored Jim. "I can see you're both interested in my pad," Mr. Young noted with a cheer that caused shivers to shoot up and down Trixie's spine. "This is specially designed for us. What you and your lovely fiancée will do is put your hand on it. Immediately, Ritch's computer over there will search out your true identity and report it back to us. Simple. It can't get any more simplistic than that."

"I see." Just when he was starting to feel like they had overcome all that needed to be overcome, a new roadblock popped up, mocking them with its very presence.

Mr. Young stopped in front of Trixie. "Ladies should always go first, my dear."

Not wanting to show that she was starting to get some movement back, she glowered up at him. "I can't," she declared with as much pride as she could muster.

"Oh, that's right!" Mr. Young exclaimed, chuckling slightly. He slapped his forehead, shook his head. "You have been rather inconvenienced tonight. I forgot. Here. Let me help you." He made to take her hand but Jim interceded. He covered it with his own larger hand and pulled it back, not wanting the man to ever have cause to touch her again.

"I'll do it," he stated gruffly. Turning Trixie away from Mr. Young, he tenderly held out her hand, fanned out her fingers as he was instructed to do. Lightly, he placed it on the small black pad, being careful not to press his own hand onto it with hers.

Mr. Young waited a moment before barking out to Ritch, "What's the verdict?"

"Five, four, three, two, one…and the winner is…" Ritch murmured under his breath, counting down until the name flashed on his screen. "Beatrix B. Johnson. She's cleared, Mr. Young. She's come through with flying colors. Our girl is exactly who she says she is."

"Well, well, well." Mr. Young stroked his chin, unable to decide if he was pleased or disappointed. "Half-way there. It may still prove to be preemptive since we still have your fiancé to test but it seems that apologies may be in order." After admitting it, he had the audacity to smile benignly down at her.

"Don't mention it," Trixie countered, her voice whisper soft and her eyes shooting sharp daggers of disgust at him.

"Hart, you're up next." Mr. Young held the pad out to him. "Let's see if you can pass the test with as much ease as your lovely lady here."

Jim took it as an encouraging sign when Trixie squeezed his hand. Copying her movements of a few minutes earlier, he put his hand on the black pad and waited for the technological marvel to do its thing. All he could do was hope that the CDA fixed his fingerprints.

Ritch counted down for the second time and frowned at the result. It came up as inconclusive. "We've got to try it again," he muttered, tossing an odd look back at the gathered group. "There's no match this time."

"It happens from time to time," Mr. Young stated although his eyes took on a shrewd and unpleasant gleam again. He offered the pad back to Jim. "It could be a glitch in the program. Try it again, Hart. Maybe you can hit the jackpot this time."

Striving for nonchalance, Jim placed his hand on the pad again, all the while urging the CDA to do their thing, already, and somehow miraculously make his fake name come up. When the computer beeped, he looked up, his face carefully blank. Inwardly, he was a bundle of nerves. The few seconds it took Ritch to read the answer felt like an eon.

"Well?" Mr. Young called out forcibly, for the first time all evening showing the depth of his emotions.

"James W. Hart," Ritch replied, shaking his head, wondering why the machine hadn't come up with the affirmative the first time around. "Believe it or not, he's cleared, too."

Frowning, Mr. Young let the information sink in. Every issue had been seen to. In his opinion, no rock had been left unturned. Guilt should have been a natural response. But he didn't feel it. Truly, he did not. He turned around, stared at the couple still residing on the floor at his feet. "Well, it seems it wasn't preemptive. Trixie. Jim. Apologies are definitely in order."

"Double the amount like you promised and we'll forgive and forget," Trixie muttered frostily, noticing that he finally called both of them by their first names.

"Consider it done." Mr. Young motioned towards the table and invited, "Dinner is ready. Past ready. But, if you're hungry, feel free to enjoy it. There is plenty of food."

It hurt but Jim managed to match the conversational flow. "If it's all the same to you, we'd like to go back to our suite." There was no way in hell he was going to partake of any type of meal with Mr. Young, especially now.

"Yes, yes. I can understand it." Mr. Young ordered the silent men flanking the doors to leave their posts with an authoritative flick of his hand. "Please. Make your way out of the room, take some time to recover. We'll finalize our deal tomorrow. I'll be in touch."

Jim picked up the bright pink cell, dropped it into her purse, and threaded his hand through the straps. Slowly, he stood up, taking Trixie with him. When her legs skittered out from underneath, proof that she wasn't anywhere close to steady yet, he swung her up, cradling her carefully in his arms. She felt frail, uncharacteristically so. Keeping a wary eye on the men, as if he expected them to prevent their leaving, he carried her over to the doorway. Only one thought was in his mind. He was getting out of there, as fast and as quick as he could manage it.

Mr. Young trailed behind, keeping a respectable distance between himself and the couple. He chattered away the entire time, acting as if he hadn't just put Trixie through a mild form of torture or engaged Jim in the toughest interview he'd ever experienced before in his life. "I do hope you're able to understand my position, Jim. I can easily see that you're rather angry with me right now. I can understand it. I know we went to great lengths to get our answers but, in my line of work, we can never be too careful…or too gentle. We simply must have to get the right answers, through any way possible." He ended with a low chuckle, not the least bit contrite about the whole ordeal.

Jim didn't offer up any sort of an answer. He couldn't, not with the amount of righteous anger pulsating through his veins, begging for release. If he were to give in to it, to let it out in all its fierce, frustrated glory, they may not get out of the penthouse anytime soon. And he had to get Trixie to their suite. He simply had to. It took precedence over anything else, even his temper. He allowed himself one fulminating glower, which Mr. Young shrugged off. Jim followed him out into the hallway, wanting to put as much distance as he could between them and the damn penthouse. In his opinion, they were never going to visit to Mr. Young's home again.

As they reached the middle of the living room, the front door blew open. In breezed a tall woman, made even taller by the three-inch high heels attached to the bottom of her feet. Her blonde hair was piled exceedingly high on her head. Long gold earrings hung from her ears. Dropping a small purse on a side table with a flick of a flourish, she called out, announcing her arrival, "Hello, Eric! Are you home?"

Mr. Young stopped in his tracks. "Ginny!" he exclaimed, stunned by the appearance of his wife. His composure slipped rapidly. The expression on his face rivaled that of a little child caught taking cookies out of the cookie jar. Almost stammering, he asked, "What are you doing back so early? I didn't expect you home until midnight or later."

She zeroed in on her husband first, overlooked the sight of Jim and Trixie. "I'm only home for a few minutes. I had to come back and do a little repair." She pointed to the silky black hose on her legs. A six-inch run appeared, going from under her thigh to just below her knee. "I've had a slight…" and then she saw her husband's guests. Her mouth bowed open as she added, almost as an afterthought, "Accident."

Swearing would have helped. Unfortunately, his wife didn't like swearing. A flush started working its way across his face. "I, um, see," he mumbled, searching for an explanation to get him out of this current predicament.

"What do we have here?" Forgetting to close the front door, she moved quickly despite the towering heels, her overly cosmeticed face aghast with worry. Long talons wrapped around her husband's arm the second she reached him. She jabbed worriedly at the silently watching couple. "What happened here, Eric? Why is that man carrying the poor woman in his arms?"

"Ah, Ginny." He glanced up at the ceiling, cursing the untimely arrival of his wife. While she had an understanding that his job wasn't exactly conventional, he worked extremely hard to never let her come into contact with it, especially the less than savory parts of it. A slight inquisition where one of the participants was immobilized didn't strike him as something she would be fond of. He could already tell she wasn't going to be happy with him. Haltingly, he attempted to explain, "These are some business associates of mine. Jim Hart and Trixie Johnson. They were invited over for dinner tonight."

"Well, that certainly clears everything up." She rolled her eyes and touched Trixie's hand. "What happened to you, honey? Are you okay?"

Mr. Young stepped in, took over the explanation before either Jim or Trixie could offer up the truth. "Dinner didn't agree with Miss Johnson, I'm afraid. She felt a little faint, a little unsteady, so her fiancé is taking her home. Early, I might add. We weren't able to have dessert."

"Oh. Well. Then." Ginny Young tapped her toe on the carpet. She sent a suspicious glance towards her husband, wondered if she should accept the answer at face-value or do some more digging. When his flush deepened under her intense perusal, she knew she'd be getting out her shovel. "I see."

Mr. Young blew out a frustrated breath. He hated it when his wife got involved in his business. Absolutely despised it. If she found out why Trixie was not leaving the penthouse of her own accord, there was going to be trouble. "There's nothing to worry about, Ginny. Nothing at all. Jim here is taking her back to their room. We had to cancel the rest of our meeting but we're going to continue our business tomorrow."

She clapped her hands together, unwilling to be put off, and inserted herself into the plans for tomorrow. "Delightful. I don't have any plans at all. I'll be more than happy to join you for your meeting. Or maybe we could change your meeting to something else, make it into something more fun."

There wouldn't be any business of any kind, of that he had no doubt. Not tomorrow. Not once his wife got involved. She would want to overcompensate for the evening, in any way she could. He swallowed back a sigh, stared at his two guests with the expression of a condemned man, and felt doomed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. "Jim, Trixie. Expect a call tomorrow," he said shortly. "Either from me or my wife."

"I'll be calling in the late morning!" Ginny put in gaily. She reached out, tapped Jim on the shoulder, all the while thinking what a marvelously handsome man he was and that the pretty blonde was a very lucky lady. "I'm sure we can think of some entertaining things to do tomorrow. Don't worry. Leave it to me. We'll have a blast."

There was no way he was spending any more time with Mr. Young or his wife. He'd rather have surgery…without the aid of anesthesia. Jim chose not to reply, merely stared back at Mr. Young, his face a stoic mask.

"Have a good night." Mr. Young thought that his face might crack with the effort it took to smile. "We'll be in touch."

"Yes. We will!" Cheerfully, Ginny sailed on through the room, overlooking her husband's guilty look and the less than enthusiastic response from the couple. She could be pushy when the situation warranted it. This situation most certainly did. She headed towards the dining room instead of her bedroom, wanting to check the room out first. Since it was where the couple had spent their evening with her husband, she was certain it carried a significant clue about what had happened to them.

Mr. Young grunted an abrupt attempt at a farewell, pivoted and followed her, his shoulders bunched and his eyes narrowed. She was going to the dining room, the room he hadn't had the chance to have cleaned up yet. She was going to see the splintered table, the broken figurines, the two platters of dinner that hadn't been touched, and possibly Ritch if the man was still inside. Damn it all. It looked like he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

Amazed to be left alone in the penthouse, it took Jim a few seconds to respond. Then he didn't waste a precious second. He hurried through the open front door, didn't bother with the necessity of closing it, and strode towards the elevator. It obligingly opened after a quick jab at the down button. With his beloved bundle in his arms, he entered it and didn't feel safe until the doors closed, locking the two of them in. "We made it," he breathed out, relieved when the carriage started moving downwards.

Serenely content to stay cuddled, her legs dangling well above the floor, Trixie didn't take the time to search for her cell, to scan the elevator for any cameras. It wasn't needed. She didn't have the energy for conversation, simple or complicated. She could only summon the energy to rest her head on his shoulder. Her thoughts were jumbled up in her mind, finally coming to center on one thing. Gratitude. She had so much to be grateful for. Her fellow agents, with their quick thinking and even quicker typing skills. Their surprisingly easy exit from the penthouse. And, most importantly of all, for Jim and all that he had done for her. A low, comfortable sigh slipped past her lips, causing him to glance down in concern. She didn't notice. Her lids fluttered once, twice, before closing on the third blink. Exhaustion stole over her, sweeping her along its gentle waves. She was asleep before the elevator arrived on their floor.


	22. Chapter 22

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Two

After pushing open the bedroom door, Jim stopped on the threshold while his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dark. A strand of moonlight, silvery but with a gentle touch of blue, cascaded in through the windows, filtering across the bed and the woman slumbering away on it. Beauty, right in front of him. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her. She was on her back. Her curls were spread out on the pillows, an unruly mass of pure gold burnished by the natural light. One arm was tossed back over her head; the other pressed against the soft white blanket he'd placed over her a few hours earlier. Her chest rose and fell in a comforting rhythm. She looked so peaceful, so tranquil. Reaching behind, he clicked the door shut behind him although he knew the others in the suite wouldn't be bothering them for the duration of the night. He'd made it perfectly clear to them that Trixie wasn't to be disturbed. Walking with quiet feet, he approached her and took a minute to simply look. After putting down the items he carried on the nightstand, he eased himself down onto the edge of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, more than content to watch over her.

Almost instantly, blue eyes popped wide open. A little disoriented and a whole lot confused, Trixie glanced frantically around the darkened room, unable to place her location right away. The second her eyes settled on Jim, the worry immediately left…but not the curiosity. "Wait…what…why?" she wondered aloud, her voice unnaturally hoarse and gravelly sounding. Coughing, she started to pull herself up into a sitting position.

Large hands were on her shoulders, easing her up and keeping her from moving too quickly. Max's recent warning that Trixie wouldn't be feeling up to too much physical activity any time soon rang vividly through his mind. She wasn't to overtax herself, not until her body was ready. "Take it easy," Jim told her quietly, his touch as soothing and soft as his voice. Once he had her situated, he competently fluffed the pillows behind her. "You shouldn't move too fast."

A small smile of gratitude flittered across her face. Easing herself back onto the over-stuffed pillows the hotel offered, she was overwhelmed with a bashfulness she hadn't experienced in his presence since she was thirteen years old. Here she was, lying in bed, rumpled, ruffled and at a decided disadvantage, battling the after effects of a startled awakening, while he was staring down at her, all concern and so damn handsome it made her want to ache. Uncertain what she should say to Jim, she settled on the simple, if unimaginative, greeting. "Hey."

His answering grin resembled his recent touch: gentle and sweet. He couldn't stop himself. Reaching out, he fingered a long curl. "Hey, yourself."

With only the light of the moon, she couldn't see much other than the shadows in the room. He was only a few feet away, sitting on the edge of the large lake that was the king-sized bed. Trixie scooted herself up until she was in a better sitting position, where she realized the ache she was experiencing wasn't entirely because of Jim's nearness. Nope, it was her abused muscles screaming out a protest, a reminder of the pain brought on by their recent and, unfortunately, extremely memorable experience in Mr. Young's penthouse. Her small smile slipped away while she bravely repressed a shudder of revulsion. She never wanted to relive an experience like that again. Never.

He came to the end of her curl, reluctantly let it fall on the pristine white of the pillowcase, and watched the emotions flicker across her overly expressive face. Knowing the path where her thoughts had gone, Jim tightly clasped his fingers together to prevent himself from touching her again. He wasn't certain if that was what she wanted. As the silence thickened around them, he finally chipped away at it with a question. "So, Trix. How are you doing?"

"Sore. I'm really sore." She cocked her head to the side, didn't need more than a second to provide an answer. Testing her limbs, she discovered that full movement had thankfully returned. It came with a price. It felt like each and every single muscle in her body had been tested to its fullest and then some. Even with the sometimes physically demanding escapades her job required of her, she couldn't ever remember feeling quite so sore before. It seemed like there was a persistent ache all throughout her.

He turned towards the nightstand, fiddled around, and came back with a water bottle and a couple of pills. He offered them over, explaining quietly, "Max said you'd be really sore when you woke up. The Motrin will help."

A slight flush stained her cheeks. It wasn't just her and Jim involved. There were others. Max, Shane, and now Dan. She couldn't recall how she'd made it to the bed, couldn't remember much after falling asleep…in Jim's arms. Where had she done that? In the penthouse, hallway or elevator? Everything towards the end of their time upstairs had become a blinding blur to her of practically nothingness. It both embarrassed and enthralled her to know that Jim must have carried her back to the suite and into the bedroom, most likely under the watchful and interested eyes of her friends. "Thanks," she mumbled and obediently took the water and the pills. After swallowing them, she handed back the bottle. Whether it was psychological or the pills were working fast, she swore she was already starting to feel better. Her voice lost its throaty quality as she asked, "What time is it?"

"It's after two o'clock," he answered after shooting a quick glance at the clock on the entertainment center.

Her eyebrows shot up. She couldn't keep the astonishment out of her voice. "In the morning?"

"Yes," he smiled indulgently, amused by the shock on her face. "It's actually 2:17, if you really must know."

"Wow." It amazed her that she'd been able to sleep for so long. By her calculations, at least four full hours. Hell, her body must have been really put through the wringer or…She studied him through her lashes. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that she had Jim with her, to watch over her, to keep her safe. A purely feminine reaction, truly, but she couldn't stop the thrill of the realization. Fingers pulled at the fringed edging of the blanket. Hoping he couldn't read the feelings she felt must be vividly painted across her face, she inquired, "What have I missed out on?"

In true Jim fashion, he tried to shrug off the question. He concentrated on putting the top back on the water bottle, didn't look at her. "Not much."

She didn't let him get away with it. A roll of the eyes, a large sigh, and she declared in a no-nonsense sort of a tone, "Jim…"

"All right, all right," he replied, laughingly holding up his hands to ward off any more declarations from her. Still chuckling, he added, "You probably want a play-by-play of everything you missed out on, don't you?"

"I am rather curious about the rest of the evening," she remarked dryly. "I can't remember much after meeting Mr. Young's wife." Glancing down, she noticed her toes were peeking out of the blanket. Bare toes. Obviously, he'd slipped off her shoes after depositing her on the bed. She found the gesture endearingly sweet, as well as enticingly erotic. She wiggled her toes, pleased that she could now manage the simple task, and realized he must also have draped the soft blanket across her, too. A sweet light entered her eyes.

"That's about the time you fell asleep," he explained needlessly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. His words jerked her away from her more than pleasant thoughts. She swept a hand through her hair, unable to do anything else to tame the wild mass. "What did I miss out on?"

"It's not all the exciting," he warned her ahead of time, because, well, it wasn't. Other than a show of male testosterone on his part, one he absolutely refused to feel ashamed about, there wasn't much to say or explain. It had been anti-climactic, especially considering what they had gone through in the penthouse.

"I don't care." She looked around the darkened room, gave an involuntary shudder. In a voice that sounded unbearably young, she requested, "Before you start, though, would you mind turning the light on? I don't really want to be in the dark right now, if it's okay with you."

There wasn't a need to be asked twice. Jim was off the bed and on his way to turn on the overhead lighting before she finished with her request. Light instantly flooded the room, harshly banishing away the moonlight without a second thought. He didn't miss her sigh of contentment, which told him she was much more comfortable right now with the light than she had been with the dark. And it was so much better for him, too. With the advent of the light, he could see her much more clearly. To him, she still looked pale. "Better?"

"Oh, much," she breathed out and pulled at the silver scarf around her neck. Two quick tugs and it came undone. She dropped it off the side of the bed where it landed in an untidy heap on the carpet. Humming lightly, she stretched her arms up and out, thankful to be able to move her limbs again. "Gleeps but this feels good."

"I can imagine." This time he didn't sit on the bed. With her awake and aware, it was a little too tempting for him. Jim grabbed an ornate chair from a nearby desk and dragged it over with him to the bed. Flipping it around, he sat down, his hands dangling over the edge. "You wanted to know what happened, right?"

Wishing that he'd sat back down with her on the bed, she swallowed back the disappointment, curled her legs up underneath, smoothed the blanket around her, and gave her head a single regal nod. Knowing the men in her life like she did, she correctly guessed the situation. "I imagine it wasn't all that pretty."

"No, it wasn't," Jim agreed, thinking back to the greeting that had awaited them in the suite. Dan, who'd been equipped with a listening device on his cell phone, had been absolutely livid. He'd never seen their friend that angry before. Max and Shane had burst in through the connecting door exactly ten seconds after he'd entered with Trixie. Yeah, the whole atmosphere had been extremely tense. He'd waited until after depositing his slumbering girl on the bed before he'd let loose on the CDA men and shown them a sliver of his temper, which easily out-smoked Mangan's. "I wasn't exactly…polite," he admitted sheepishly.

"Really?" Trixie shook her head, well able to predict his reaction. He would have been furious. "The famous Frayne temper."

"Something like that." Since there wasn't an ounce of condemnation in her words, he didn't flush. His lips curved upwards instead. He refused to feel guilty over his reaction, no matter how knee-jerk it was. He absolutely refused to feel upset over the fact that all three men involved now knew beyond a shadow of any doubt how very important Trixie was to him. He'd finally let it slip, gave life to the miraculous phrase. In fact, the saying of those simple, beautiful little words had helped calm him down the most. And Dan hadn't stopped smirking since he said them. He figured he had a little grace period before Mangan started teasing the hell out of him. He gave a small cough and said, "Anyway, once I, ahh, settled down, the four of us had a pretty good talk."

"Not a talk. Max questioned you," she stated knowingly, starting to feel like she was finally back on track, at least mentally. She could picture the scene vividly in her mind and found it amusing that two Bob-Whites were now being treated like equals by her fellow agents. There was something oddly comforting about it.

"And then some." He scrubbed a hand over his face, shook his head at the memory. Max was more demanding than his father when it came to work. "I described, re-described, and then described again everything in minute detail. Everything. I think I could explain what happened in the penthouse in my sleep now." Although he chuckled, he knew he would see it in his sleep, that exact moment when Trixie was rendered immobile and there hadn't been a single thing he could do about it. It scared the hell out of him. He imagined it would for the rest of his life.

"Max is pretty good at ferreting out all the relevant information." Trixie offered up a small giggle. "He never stops asking until he's one hundred and ten percent certain he knows what's going on. He's very thorough."

"Yeah. When he was satisfied with the entirety of my report, he called your Chief and filled him in." Concerned green eyes watched her closely. Since he knew the man from their adventures on the Mississippi, he didn't flinch from using the actual name. "Chief Ogilvie didn't sound very happy with the whole ordeal but he was relieved that you weren't seriously hurt."

"No. Not hurt, just incapacitated," Trixie muttered, embarrassed because she hadn't been strong enough to counteract Ritch's intentions towards her. Her mouth settled into a thin line while her blush deepened.

Jim tucked a finger under her chin, tipped her face up. "It could have been worse," he murmured lowly. Max had told him exactly how worse it could have been, had that ugly little device been used to its fullest capacity. He'd also promised Jim that the CDA wouldn't leave Las Vegas without obtaining it. It wouldn't be in Ritch's greedy little fingers for much longer. Oh, and Ritch wouldn't be quite as healthy, either. The thought brought a primitive glitter of pure glee to his eyes.

Unaware of the path Jim's thoughts were taking him, she frowned, thinking back on the web of lies Jim had woven so amazingly, and astonishingly, well. "You come up with some wonderful answers there. They were really believable. Who was responsible for turning them into a reality?"

"Lies, Trix. They weren't answers They were lies," he corrected, not remorseful in the least. "Good lies, too, if I must say so myself."

"The best," she remarked truthfully. She tapped him on the forearm. "You did really well up there."

Although her touch only lasted a second, he could still feel it after she lifted her hand. Clearing his throat, he explained, "It's Shane you should be thanking. He worked like a demon to keep up with everything I told Ritch and Young. I still can't believe that every lie was backed up instantaneously on the internet. I have to agree with Dan. Your agency is the best. Their quick response was amazing."

Trixie's beautiful blue eyes shone with a bright sparkle, proof positive that she had put the earlier pain behind her. Without thinking, she reached out again, covered Jim's hand with her own and squeezed. "And you amazed me."

Her approval meant more to him than the impressive array of degrees hanging in his office back at W&H, International. What did Harvard have over her? Couldn't have been any clearer. Absolutely nothing. "Thank you."

"You really did," Trixie spoke earnestly, leaving her smaller hand on top of his. "After Ritch jolted me, I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. But I could still think. You…you handled everything like a pro."

"Hey. I learned from the best." He turned his hand over, laced his fingers through hers, and held on tightly. "The very best."

"You're really not mad at me anymore, are you?" blurted out of her before she could stop it. Instantly, her face went crimson.

He thought she looked charming, with that flood of red chasing away the pale that had been on her face, making the blue of her eyes seem even more brilliant. "No," he answered, giving his head a swift shake. "Not at all. I spent an uncomfortable amount of time walking in your shoes, Trix, when we were up in the penthouse." He took in a deep breath before admitting the truth, "Let me tell you this. I completely understand your need for secrecy. Completely and totally."

The need for secrecy. He called it her need for secrecy. It sounded so much better when put like that. Not lying, not deception, not a sin of omission. The way he put it made it sound honorable. Leave it to Jim to put it in such a term. Trixie couldn't prevent the radiant smile from lighting up her expressive face. "Thank you," was all she could manage past the sudden lodging of emotion wedged in her throat.

"Anyway, Max finished his call to your Chief," Jim said, getting back to the matter at hand. "He wants to talk to you about the mission in the morning…later in the morning," he hastily added. "Not now. You're supposed to get as much rest as you need."

"Later sounds good," she murmured, drumming a finger along the top of the bedspread. "I think I'll be able to handle it then."

With narrowed eyes, he shared, "Max, Dan and Shane were pretty upset over the whole ordeal. Their fondest wish right now is to meet Ritch and Mr. Young in a dark alley somewhere."

"They can wait in line," Trixie muttered, her hands fisting against the blanket while a line furrowed on her forehead. "We've got first dibs."

Eyebrows shot up in surprise. Pleased she'd added him into her assertion, he admitted softly, "That's exactly what I told them."

She tilted her head back, stunned by his response. They stared at each other for a solid minute; neither moving, neither talking. It was the first time in a very long time where she truly believed they were on the exact same plane, at the exact same time, experiencing the exact same emotions. It felt damn good. She finally broke the spell by asking hoarsely, "What else?"

"Not much. Only our sleeping arrangements for the night. We've got a couple of dragons guarding the castle," he explained, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the living room. "Max and Dan are spending the night out there. Max wants to be prepared and Dan insisted on staying. Shane's going to sleep in the other suite but he's leaving the connecting door open."

"I understand." And she did. Max wasn't taking chances…now. Just in case Mr. Young changed his position again on the status of Beatrix Johnson and James Hart. It couldn't help but make her feel better to know that three of the men she trusted with her life were out there, watching over her. But where did that leave Jim? Nervously, she started to chew on her bottom lip. With the amazing amount of camaraderie existing between them, especially in lieu of his discovery about her job and the lie she'd successfully perpetrated for seven years, she didn't feel brave enough to pose the question. But she could hope.

Hoping she wasn't curious about his sleeping arrangements…or, more accurately, where he had insisted on sleeping, Jim quickly changed the subject. "The last I saw them, the three were engaged in an extremely fierce game."

"Poker?" At his answering nod, a huge grin split her face. More comfortable, she settled back, unable to get the thought of Max, Shane and Dan playing poker together out of her head. It must be one hell of a game. Eyes twinkling merrily, she asked, "Who was winning?"

"It was fast and furious," Jim said with a chuckle. "I knew better than to get involved in it when it was proposed an hour ago. I have a little more experience under my belt but…"

Trixie's grin doubled. "You felt out-gunned."

"To say the least." He shook his head, his low chuckles mingling with her giggles. "Anyway, I sat back and watched, then thought I'd better turn in for the night." The amusement vanished dramatically from his face. Wanting to slap himself on the forehead, he wondered if Trixie caught on to where exactly he was planning on staying for the rest of the night. Green eyes cruised over her face, watching for any sign of a reaction.

Her heart picked up, a rapid rhythm. Had he inferred what she thought he'd inferred? If he had, then he was going to be spending the night with her, in the bedroom. Exactly where she wanted him to be. "Okay," she answered, hoping her response came off as neutral and not as breathless.

He slowly let out the breath he knew he'd been holding. Since the atmosphere in the room had turned, he searched in vain for another topic of conversation. It was difficult, with her big blue eyes following his every move. Only when he glanced at the nightstand did he discover a new topic. Blessed salvation came in the form of a little green tube. He reached over, plucked it off the table, and showed it to Trixie. Gruffly, he insisted, "This is supposed to help you, too."

Pathetically grateful for some form of distraction, she held her hand out for the tube and turned it over in her hand. She slanted a confused look back at him. "Aloe?"

"For the burn," he replied. Concentrating on the job at hand, he took it back from her, flipped open the top.

"Burn? What burn?" she countered, puzzled.

"Max said that it's very typical for a device like Ritch used on you to leave behind a burn at the point of contact." Jim's expression briefly changed to one of impotent fury. Just thinking of what that bastard had done to Trixie reignited his temper. Knowing now wasn't the time to allow it free reign, he resolutely smoothed it away. He'd have to wait…and, if he didn't get the chance for a little retribution, he knew it would come in the form of the CDA. Max strongly assured him that the agency took care of its own.

"It doesn't feel like I have a burn," she remarked slowly. Shifting, she reached for the spot where the device had caught her, rather high up in center of her back, and gasped. It was tender, unbelievably so. Her eyes snapped back to his.

It was all he needed. "Turn around, Trix," he ordered almost grimly. He'd been hoping there hadn't been one, didn't want to think of any kind of a mark being left on his girl, but he'd known from somewhere deep inside he wouldn't be that lucky. Neither would she.

Surprisingly, Trixie obeyed without question. As gracefully as possible, she flipped around onto her stomach. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt Jim's weight settle on the bed, right next to her. In fact, his knees brushed up against her left hip. Knowing her face was turning the hated shade of red yet again, she turned her head to the side, watched his hands move towards her silver dress. It didn't take him long to find the hem. It did seem to take forever as he slowly, excruciatingly so to her mind, started to pull it up, past her hips, past her waist, until he finally bunched it under her shoulder blades. It shouldn't have embarrassed her. Truly, it shouldn't. He'd already seen her in much less during their time together. The barely there bikini sprang immediately to mind. But the thought of him lifting up her shirt, in a bed, no less, while she waited patiently flat on her stomach made it seem entirely too intimate, much too intense. It didn't help that she found his touch so erotic, almost unbearably so. Her breathing became labored, enough so that she noticed. It took all her control to focus on the simple in-and-out process she'd always taken for granted.

He'd been plagued with similar issues until the angry red mark was revealed. It was there, placed directly in the center of her back. It wasn't big; was about the size of a half-dollar, and seemed incongruous against the perfectly tanned skin of her back. He drew a circle around it before putting the lotion in his hand. Carefully he started to work the salve into her skin, keeping his touch gentle and light.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she laid her head against the softness of her pillow while Jim worked his tender ministrations on her. She had a pretty good idea of what her wound would look like, having seen similar ones like it before in her job. Luckily for her, it would heal quickly, without leaving much of a mark behind. She was also smart enough, and experienced enough, to know that her injury could have been much worse. Thanks to Jim and his quick thinking, it wasn't. Staying silent, staying still, she let Jim take care of her, and tried not to focus on the sweetness of having his hands on her body.

Once he'd started touching her skin he couldn't seem to stop and ended up working in more salve than was necessary. Since the only place he actually had permission to touch right now was her burn, he concentrated on it with a ferocity that would have impressed any doctor in the medical field. He tried to ignore his body's response to her, as well as the more sensuous thoughts attacking his mind. But it was so damn hard when he was touching her silky soft skin, when he could feel the rise and fall of each breath she took, when he saw the sight of his hands against her back. So…damn…hard.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, he finally had to stop. Tenderly, he let his hands trail down her back, where they landed right by the side of her ribcage. Trixie wondered if he could feel the frantic beat of her heart. It had to be pounding out at about a million miles per minute right now. His touch was so perfect, so right, and stirred up so much need, so much want. It was well into the night. She was in a bed, a good portion of her skin revealed, with Jim right next to her, exactly as she'd expected to be when they first left the suite this morning. If only she hadn't been hurt. There was simply no way she could dredge up the energy for any sort of extracurricular activity, not right now, not when she'd just regained the use of her body again. It was a mixture of both heaven and hell, right here in Las Vegas.

"There," he declared, his voice rough as sandpaper. While it would have been smart to sit back and keep his hands to himself, he didn't. He couldn't. He had to keep them on her. Touching her was as necessary to him as breathing. "All done."

"Thanks," she murmured, unable to bring herself to look directly at him. "Believe it or not it already feels better."

Leaning back, he assessed her burn. It did look better with the salve on it; not quite as angry, not quite as red. With his chore done, it finally registered that most of her back was bare to him. A small masculine smile tilted his lips. Although he should have moved away, he gave himself permission to stare. And stare he did, until something brought him up short. Her tattoo. He honed in on it, unable to look anywhere else, even with the amount of tantalizing skin on display. He didn't realize it, had no idea he'd made the decision to touch it, but a long finger came to rest right underneath it. With a curiosity that matched hers, he inspected it, memorized it, let the sight burn itself permanently into his memory, exactly as he'd wished he'd been able to do months ago, when Di had gleefully revealed the tattoo to all the Bob-Whites in Honey and Brian's kitchen.

She knew, she just knew, exactly what he was seeing. If it had been hard for her when Di first spotted her tattoo during their fitting, if it had been tough for the rest of the Bob-Whites to interrogate her about it once they'd seen it, it was beyond difficult to know that Jim was now looking at it. Jim. It was _Jim._ Every ounce of color faded from her face, until she was as white as the blanket covering her legs. He was looking. He was staring. Undoubtedly, he was studying it, with the same intensity he once gave his textbooks. Oh, woe. He was going to have a lot of questions, ones she couldn't in good conscience push aside, ignore or offer half-hearted answers. He didn't deserve it, not after what he'd just done for her. Nervously she chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for him to start.

For once, Jim didn't feel her body tense up under his fingers, too intent on the tattoo. He'd looked at it from afar when Di had uncovered it. He'd noticed it again when she'd worn that pretty purple bikini during their first visit to the penthouse. But now, now that he was mere inches from it, examining it, in the privacy afforded by the bedroom, he couldn't let the chance slip by. He had to know more. "Your tattoo," he mumbled, his eyebrows pulling together in deep concentration.

Her hands curled into bunched fists. "Yeah," she replied, ordering herself to not move away, which was what her body was screaming for her to do. She knew what was coming before he did it. She didn't flinch when he touched the first star, kept herself as quiet as possible, and waited for the questions to start.

"Stars," he whispered, talking more to himself than to her. "Seven of them." He touched every single one of them, starting with a bright blue star and ending with the one closing out the circle. The star that was green. Emerald green.

"Yeah," she repeated lowly.

"One for each of us," he explained lowly. Fascinated, he kept his finger on what he knew had to be his star. The satisfaction it gave him was primitive. He wouldn't have traded the feeling for anything in the world. "All seven Bob-Whites."

"Right." She gave a brave attempt to breeze over the rest of the questions she could practically feel dripping from his lips. "It's a requirement of my agency to get a tattoo once an agent reaches full agent status. Every agent has one. The tattoos are all different. We don't have a specific one we have to have. Each agent gets to pick the one they would like."

"Hmm," he answered absently, much more interested in the Bob-Whites than in the peculiar workings of the CDA. Reluctantly, he moved his finger away from the green star, touched the one tinted in a pretty shade of blue that matched her eyes. "This one has to be yours."

"Yeah." She couldn't bring herself to turn her head to look directly at his face. Instead, she looked straight to the side, where she had a good view of his arm. When he pointed to the three letters inked on differing points of her star, she knew he'd found the first identifying mark.

"And it's got letters. CDA," he muttered, studying each one carefully. "I understand now."

"It's hidden somewhere on everyone's tattoo. It's a way to prove who we are. You know, should it ever become necessary. Luckily I've never had to but, well, you, umm, just never know. It's there, in case it should be needed, since we don't carry ID cards like other agencies. That would be asinine since we are a covert agency." Blushing yet again, she called a halt to her incoherent and long-winded explanation, feeling like an absolute idiot, and studied the floral pattern on the bedspread.

Thoroughly enjoying her rambling string of words, the edges of his mouth tugged up. Because she wasn't looking at his face, he let his grin grow. He always found her bouts of nervousness amusing. There was something so sweetly naïve about them. "I understand."

"Yes, hmm." She blew out a tiny breath, bravely introduced the next star in the circle before he could ask about it. Maybe if she continued to take the initiative, she could get by without telling him everything. "The yellow star is Honey's, of course. Gold was my first choice but the tattoo artist vetoed it. It turns out that gold doesn't always show up so well when it's used in a tattoo. Yellow was a better choice."

"Honey's star is right next to yours. It's the perfect place for her," he noted with a bit of nostalgia, remembering all the times the girls had worked together to solve different mysteries. He'd once referred to them as Moll Dicks, Incorporated, right at the very beginning stages of their teenaged career. "You gave a nice nod to the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency with it."

"When the FBI gives up, we take over," she quipped, causing him to chuckle.

"Seems to me you're doing even better than the FBI nowadays," he pointed out, a hint of pride to his voice that she couldn't miss.

She lifted a shoulder. "Working for the CDA has been very interesting. Never a dull moment, as I'm sure you're figuring out."

"I'm in complete agreement with you there." And he was. He couldn't believe the amount of intrigue he'd been involved in since first crossing paths with her in the bar. There was nothing dull about it. Getting back to the tattoo, he moved along, tapping a finger against each star as he went around the circle. He didn't need to ask who each one belonged to. To a full-blooded Bob-White, the colors were obvious. "Let's check out the rest of the stars. We've got Brian, Mart, Di, Dan…"

Brown. A darker shade of blue. Purple. Black. She braced herself, knowing what was coming next, her stomach fluttering with a horde of butterflies, all rioting to get out. It was the emerald one. The green star. The one that stood for…

"Mine," he finished possessively, his eyes trained on the star he knew was his. A long finger reached out, slowly traced the five points of the perfectly inked star. It was right next to the one that stood for Trixie. _Right next to hers_. He couldn't take his hand off it, had never thought he could find such pleasure in viewing a tattoo. It amazed him that she'd chosen to include him in on it, especially since they'd been extremely successful at perpetrating a strained, overly polite, extremely cool relationship. Even more astonishing, she'd chosen to put their stars right next to each other.

"Yes." After she said it, she flinched, knowing her voice sounded much too thin, much too weak. She tried again but without much success. "It is yours."

His eyes were taking on an intense glint she couldn't see, a glint of pride, of desire, of want. God, he loved the fact that she'd put their stars near each other. Absolutely adored it. But he wanted; no, needed, to know more. "Why, Trix? Why'd you have my star placed next to yours?"

Leave it to Jim to ask the one question she didn't want to answer. "We were co-presidents. You know that," she whispered against the fluffing of the pillow, hoping he'd buy the simplicity of her answer and not demand more. "It felt…right."

"Yeah," he answered, voice thick with undeclared and indecipherable emotions. How he wanted it to be more than that…much more than the fact that they'd been presidents together of their semi-secret club. He moved his finger, noticed a small black mark within his star. Leaning in, he peered at it and correctly identified it. An infinity sign. There was an infinity sign within his star. None of the other stars had any defining marks. Only hers…and his.

She felt the question forming before it was given life. Deciding to beat him to it, hoping she'd be able to ward him off before she had to offer up more than she was willing to at the moment, she explained hastily, her words practically tripping over themselves in her effort to get them out before he asked the question, "Another requirement of the CDA is to put our agency's sign in the tattoo. It's an infinity sign."

Jim put his finger on it. "An infinity sign," he repeated, his heart thundering in his chest.

One thing she did know. She wasn't fully ready for him to understand everything. Going for broke, hoping he wouldn't push, she added, "The infinity sign shows that our agency is always going to be there, forever, to help the good of the world, to ward off the bad. It's what we do."

A week ago, he would have been satisfied with the stingy answer. He wouldn't have pushed. Hell, a day ago he wouldn't have been satisfied but he would have accepted it. Not now, not after everything that had happened, not after everything that he knew. He couldn't stop himself. He had to know. Wishing he could look into her face, he sat back on the bed, his hand still on her. "You could have had the sign placed anywhere on your tattoo. Why did you pick my star?"

He would have to ask the question. He would have to. She should have known better than to try and prevent it from happening. Trixie closed her eyes, drew in a small breath, and let it out really slowly while her heart thudded painfully to the pit of her stomach. What could she say? Really, what could her answer possibly be other than the truth? Softly, so softly, he almost couldn't hear it, she admitted, "There wasn't any other place to put it. It had to go there."

Her answer was as soothing to his soul as the salve had been to her burn. He finally lifted his hands from her back. She wasn't looking at him. Her face was in profile against the pillowcase. But her hands were fisted. He could see them. And her eyes were closed. Gently, he pulled her dress down, smoothed it out, then helped her turn over until she was once again situated on her back. Tenderly, he ran a finger along the edge of her jaw. With a lot of unspoken emotion clogging his throat, he stated raspily, "I'm glad you put it there."

A simple declaration. Just like that, all the tenseness dissipated from her body. The smile she gave him was dazzling in its brilliance. When he opened his arms to her, it was the most natural thing in the world to accept the embrace he offered. She wrapped her arms around him, held on as tight as her sore muscles would allow. An incredible amount of peace settled over her. Resting her head on his chest, she declared, "I am, too."

He rested his chin against the top of her curls. The day had been a full-out emotional roller-coaster ride, for both of them. It seemed like he'd experienced every emotion possible. Now they were left with getting their feet back underneath them once the ride was finished. Rubbing his hands up and down her back, he admitted that they had made a pretty good start. "It was a great choice."

She nodded again, breathed in the wonderful male scent of him, and reveled in the simplicity of being in his arms. She'd never expected to end the day like this, not after the unexpected and downright scary twists fate had thrown their way. How wondrous, she thought as fatigue began to creep its way across her again.

After he felt her yawn, he pulled back, knowing she wasn't ready for anything more, not after her draining night, but he still kept his arms around her waist. Contact was important. He had to touch her, even in a small way. It was something he simply had to do. "It's getting late, even for Vegas time. Are you ready for bed…again?"

The tacked on again made her smile, exactly as he'd hoped it would. "Yeah. I could go for another couple hours of sleep," she said and cuddled back under the covers, her eyes big and wide as she watched him leave the bed and stride back over to the wall. He competently flipped off the light switch, turning the room once again into almost total darkness, with the light of the moon its only combatant. Now, though, it didn't bother her like it had earlier. She focused her attention solely on Jim, her beacon, as he cut back through the dark, straight towards her, and waited with an almost painful expectation to see what he would do next.

Halfway to the bed, he toed off one shoe, then the other, feeling her inquisitive eyes upon him the whole time. Deciding all he could do was brazen it out, hoping she wouldn't ask him to leave since he'd never exactly requested her permission to sleep in the bedroom with her, he strode swiftly towards the bed and turned back a corner of the bedspread. Before she could say anything, he slipped underneath the covers. Although it was more than large enough for the two of them, he stayed closer to the edge, not wanting to crowd her, and purposefully kept his back to her. Holding his body perfectly still, he uttered a hoarse, "Good night." Nervously, he bunched up the bedspread in his hands and waited for her response.

After everything she'd gone through, Trixie couldn't help but be grateful for this unexpected boon from the rather fickle hands of fate. Here he was, in bed, with her. It wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping for, before the ill-fated intrusion of Dan into their Las Vegas mission which had set forth an unlikely series of unfortunate incidents, but she wasn't going to look any sort of a gift horse in the mouth. Unaware that she sighed, and quite contentedly too, she tugged up the blanket. An ocean of mattress resided between them. He wasn't even close to touching her. All she could see was the back of his head, the powerful lines of his shoulders. However, she felt his presence, straight through her, and whispered quietly into the night, "'night."

Only then did he allow the apprehension assaulting his body to leave. His biggest worry was appeased. She wasn't going to take him to task for daring to sleep with her. Better yet, she wasn't going to evict him. Smiling himself, he waited five full minutes before he gathered enough courage to turn his body around. He looked directly at her, noticed the dark lashes fanning lightly against her cheeks, the even rise and fall of her chest. Amazingly, she was out. Since he couldn't stop himself, he went one step further. Careful so as not to wake her, he scooted over, closing the short distance between them. When a breathless sort of a moan blew past her lips, he immediately stopped, alarmed. Luckily, she didn't wake up. Moving slower now, he reached out, cupped her beloved face in his hand. Her skin. It was wonderful. Pure, sweet and so incredibly soft underneath his touch. Content to rest on the pillow besides her, he watched her for he knew not how long, memorizing everything about her in the stages of serene slumber. Eventually his breathing evened out, mirroring hers. Nice, easy, and oh-so-comfortable. In perfect tandem, in perfect peace.


	23. Chapter 23

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Three

The bright rays of the sun filtered over the bed, threatening to pull her away from the overwhelming comfort of her slumber. She didn't want to come awake; fought valiantly against it because she was so comfortable. Something was there; something flittering just around the edges of her memory; something that told her the night had been different. A good kind of different, one that didn't merely bring her contentment but also peace and tranquility, feelings that had been missing from her life for a very long time. Groaning, she flipped onto her back, not wanting to lose the feeling, and finally gave in. She opened a single eye. The first thing she noticed were the blankets, rumpled and obviously used, as well as a crumpled pillow her head hadn't rested on. Only then did it come to her, the reason why she felt so relaxed and protected. With a sharp gasp, Trixie bolted up, unmindful of her sore muscles. Now, she knew. She could sum everything up in one short, three-lettered word. _Jim._

She couldn't stop looking at his vacated spot on the bed. He'd been there, through the whole of the long night; watching over her, taking care of her, shielding her. Sleeping right next to her. Pure wonder gleamed in her eyes. It was because of Jim, all because of him. He was the reason why she had such a wonderful night. Picking up his pillow, she hugged it to her chest and breathed in deeply. It still carried the faint scent of his cologne, proof positive that he had indeed spent the night with her, only a short arms' length away. The smell tantalized her, made a small, feminine smile curve her lips, while her features softened into the gentlest lines imaginable. She rested her chin on it.

Her heart started pounding as the memories of the past night flooded over her. She chose not to focus on the events of the penthouse. While they should have been important to the CDA agent that she was, they weren't nearly as important to her, Trixie Belden. Mr. Young and his sadistic interviewing techniques couldn't compare with Jim and what he'd done for her, both in the penthouse and in their bedroom. Gently, she reached behind, felt the small puckered burn on her back. It was still tender to the touch. Then her fingers traveled downwards, to her tattoo. Their conversation fresh in her mind, she smiled; pleased that the bright light of day didn't allow for any regrets. He knew, without any uncertainty, without any reservation, without any skepticism, how important he was to her, even through the severe bleakness of their years apart.

She let out one long, loose stretch and unfolded herself from the bed. Flipping back the covers, she climbed out of the bed as quickly as her aching muscles would allow, and grabbed the bottle of Motrin from the nightstand. As much as she didn't like giving in to pain, her muscles needed the relief provided by the pills. She popped the top, took two pills without the benefit of water, and headed towards the bathroom.

Five minutes later she was padding out of the bedroom on bare feet, eager to find him, and still dressed in her clothes from the night before. A smell of pure bliss stopped her in her tracks. Her stomach let out a low, steady rumble, reminding her she hadn't eaten since her late breakfast with Jim the day before. No lunch and definitely no dinner. Trixie followed the smell and headed down the hall, bypassing the surprisingly empty living room. With her hunger getting the better of her, she didn't bother to contemplate why it was empty. Her nose led her to the dining room, a room they hadn't used yet during their stay, and a room that wasn't empty at all.

Jim glanced up the second she appeared in the doorway and nearly dropped the covered plate. It was only quick reflexes that saved the plate and its contents from falling to the floor. Dressed in her silver dress from the night before, her curls floating around her face in the haphazard way he liked best, with absolutely no trace of make-up left on her face, he thought she was a vision. The loveliest of visions. His vision. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Forgetting to breathe, he only dropped his gaze from her when he realized he was staring. Then he gave an odd look at the plate in his hand, almost as if he'd forgotten he was in the process of setting the table for their breakfast, and mumbled out a quiet, and decidedly embarrassed, "'morning."

Suddenly, she felt extremely unsure of herself, and very, very shy, a feeling she hadn't experienced around him since she was in her early teens. Self-consciously, she tucked back her hair with both hands, mentally berating herself for not at least attempting to make an effort to make herself look a little more attractive. It didn't help knowing that he knew nearly every single thing about her life. In fact, he understood more than her parents, more than all three of her brothers, more than most of her friends. There was only one simple, single, nearly inconsequential item she still had the luxury of holding tight to her heart. She who had faced down numerous bad guys and encountered more dangerous situations than she could count couldn't for the life of her find the strength to give life to those simple and yet completely complex little trio of words; no matter how much her heart demanded that she do that, and do it, right now. Not yet. In her opinion, the timing wasn't quite right. But just thinking those words caused the dreaded blush start to work its unwelcome way across her face. Needing a distraction from her thoughts, and fast, she pointed towards the table. "Breakfast?"

While he realized she hated to blush, it only added to her allure. He watched its progress, wondered at it, and then grinned in a purely male sort of a way when he realized why she was turning such a becoming shade of pink. She was nervous around him again. A good sign. It had to be. Since waking up an hour ago, he'd been contemplating how she would react to him. She'd shared so much with him in the wee hours of the early morning, had revealed more to him than he'd ever thought possible. Ironically enough, her reaction eased his own state of nerves. He waved a hand towards the army of covered plates on the table and shared a lopsided grin with her. "Room service provides an amazing breakfast."

"Sure smells like it." She sniffed the air one last time, trying to ignore the fact that her heart literally flip-flopped in her chest. That grin of his always did it. It was so delightfully sweet, especially when it was aimed straight at her. Trying to ignore the feelings ricocheting throughout her, practically demanding some kind of an outlet, she managed to get out a coherent response, "It smells almost as good as morning at Crabapple Farm."

"I can't promise it'll be as good as your mother's," Jim replied with a low chuckle, all the while thinking it had been a very long time since he'd tasted her mother's fare or stepped foot in her lovely home in Sleepyside. "The food here is great but nothing touches the meals offered up at your house. Since I knew we'd all be hungry, I ordered up a taste of everything. Bacon, eggs, omelettes, waffles, toast, and fruit. Dan requested sausage."

Trixie looked around the room and frowned. Amazingly enough, she'd forgotten about their surprise visitor. Yet another sign she was missing out on pertinent information and not exactly on her game. Swallowing back at a sigh of self-recrimination, she rested a hand on the back of a chair. "Where's Dan? I haven't seen him yet."

Jim leaned against the table and picked up a piece of toast. "He's taking a shower over in the other suite. He thought it would be better if he was out of our room when the waiter brought up our breakfast. No one should know he's staying here."

"Hmm. Right." Trying not to stare at him, she smoothed a hand down the front of her rumpled dress.

"I was relieved they didn't mind serving breakfast this late," Jim continued, focusing on his toast instead of imagining what it would be like if he could touch her in all the places he'd like to. It would only lead to thoughts better not unleashed in a dining room…especially when total privacy wasn't something easily afforded to them at the moment. In serious need of a distraction, he picked up the carafe of coffee, poured a generous mug and nearly shoved it into her hands. "Want one?"

Wondering at his sudden gruff tone, Trixie took it without a moment's hesitation and shot a look at the clock. 11:35. AM. In the morning. Shaking her head, she declared ruefully, "It's going to be a sad day when this assignment is over. I can't ever remember getting this much sleep when I'm working on a mission. Normally I carry some pretty insane hours and don't get much rest at all." Hungry, she reached for the silver top covering the closest plate, curious about its contents.

Her words stilled him. Caught in the action of pouring his own mug of coffee, Jim had to forcefully remind himself to move before the liquid overflowed onto the table. Just in the nick of time, he carefully put down the carafe and picked up his own mug. Watching her out of the corner of his eyes, he slowly let out a small, extremely controlled breath. Curious about her reaction, he admitted quietly, "I hear you. It is going to be a sad day."

The truth hidden within his words didn't register. She let out a delighted chuckle at the contents of the plate. Bacon and scrambled eggs. Her very favorite breakfast. "Oh! This is just wonderful!" Clapping her hands together, she quickly snagged a piece of bacon and grinned up at him.

Unsure whether he should be grateful or disappointed she didn't react to his statement, Jim smiled indulgently back as she made a grab for a second piece. "Hungry?"

"You'd better believe it." Going for levity, knowing she was introducing a difficult, and possibly unwelcome, subject, she giggled and declared, watching him as warily as he was watching her, "For some odd reason, I didn't really feel like eating last night."

The sight of her sprawled across the floor, incapable of moving, barely capable of speech, utterly helpless and vulnerable, flashed vibrantly before his eyes. Only the cheerful sound of her giggles fading away kept him from dwelling on it. He inhaled sharply. It took him a good minute to respond. "Can't imagine why," he eventually quipped back, matching her brave attempt and saluting her with his own mug of black coffee.

Appreciating his response, pleased that he was able to put it into perspective and wasn't willing to let their experience darken him as she was determined not to let it darken her, she pulled out a chair and plunked herself down on it, an uneaten piece of bacon in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. Her grin doubled when he slid over the container filled with sweeteners. She caught it and winked at him. "Thanks."

He watched her tear off the sides of three sweeteners before spilling them into her coffee and grimaced when she added in her equally generous dollops of milk. Her love of super-sweet coffee didn't prevent him from joining her. Even though there were many other empty chairs at the large table, he found himself sitting in the one right next to her, and asked the most important question of the morning. "Tell me the truth here, Trix. How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Impossibly blue eyes looked at him over the rim of her own mug. "Good," she said after thinking over the question, a note of surprise twinging her voice. "Truly. I slept well. I can move again. I'm only a little sore but that's nothing the Motrin won't take care of. I don't have any problem talking. Thanks to you, my burn's not bothering me at all. I'm feeling great right now."

"I'm glad." Finally giving in to the strong need to touch, he covered her hand with his, and nearly gasped at the electricity caused by the contact. Poets more often than not wrote about the intangibles. Singers of all genres certainly sang about them. All things he wasn't certain could be achieved in his practical, responsible mind. But in that moment, when his eyes met hers, he understood, possibly for the first time, that someone could truly drown in the eyes of the person across from them, especially if that person had long blonde curls, a pert nose decorated with a charming smattering of very faded freckles, and a pair of very soft, very pink, very tempting lips. "Same goes," he said in a husky voice that made those blue eyes widen and glow. "I'm feeling really great right about now, too."

Those lips he found tempting curved upwards while a delightful dimple rose in each cheek. Before she could even think it, she scooted her chair towards him, needing to be closer. "Jim," she began. "I..." However, a cheerful whistle cut through the air, interrupting her flow of words. Helplessly, she turned toward the open doorway, inwardly cursing the man who was about to enter the room, and narrowed her eyes. He was certainly wreaking havoc with her life right now.

"Man, it sure smells good here. You'd better have left something for me, Frayne!" Dan called out seconds before he loped into the room, his hair curling and wet from his quick shower. Only his surprise at seeing Trixie kept him from noticing that the two were holding hands…and that tension of the good kind was running rampant throughout the room. He totally missed it. "Trixie! You're up!" he breathed out, a wide smile wreathing his face. He was at her side in two large bounds.

She couldn't help it. Her frustration melted away and she laughed. "Look at who's just in time for breakfast. You've always had good timing, Mangan."

"Make that lousy," Jim muttered lowly under his breath, glancing at Trixie, and squeezing her hand.

Without a moment's regret, Dan pulled her up and out of her seat, right into a tight hug, totally ignoring Jim. The next; he pressed a swift kiss to the top of her head. Murmuring softly, he declared, "Last night was one of the scariest nights of my life. Thank God you're okay."

Since humor had worked incredibly well with Jim, she went for it again. Going for cocky, thinking he'd appreciate it more than any other attempt, she lifted a single eyebrow and declared, "Was there ever any doubt?"

Recalling the encounter he'd eavesdropped in on and the moments of fear he'd experienced for two of his best friends, Dan couldn't quite match her light tone. He simply couldn't. It had been too frightening. "Trix," he mumbled quietly, a serious look on his handsome face. "I truly mean it."

"Dan. I've been in worse scrapes than that over the years," she countered swiftly, trying not to let emotions overpower her. "There was nothing to worry about. Everything worked out just fine. Mr. Young got his answers. The CDA covered Jim's stories. And Jim…" Turning, she smiled at him, her blue eyes carrying the most beautiful light he'd ever seen in them before. Pride in him rang out. "He took good care of me."

"Did he ever," Dan said lowly, shooting a sly glance at their friend who didn't appear to hear. A dark eyebrow arched while he finally took in the signs winging around the room. A grin began to grow. It was as clear as the crystal vase on the table that Jim had done something much more for Trixie than get her out of a dangerous situation.

Choosing to ignore the statement, knowing the mayhem Mangan could stir up if she addressed it and aware that neither she nor Jim would handle it well, she cleared her throat and, once again pointed to the table. "You should fill up a plate, Dan. There's tons of food here. Jim ordered enough for a whole bevy of Bob-Whites." She bowed her head and followed her own advice, inwardly praying that he'd let it go.

"A bevy of Bob-Whites." Dan tried out the turn of phrase on his own lips. Because Trixie obviously didn't want to be teased, he graciously gave in. A quick wink towards Jim told more than words that he wouldn't be so lucky. Whistling again, Dan grabbed a plate and plunked himself down across from the two of them. This time, it didn't escape his attention that they were sitting right next to each other. "It makes me wonder what would happen if the rest of our clan suddenly showed up."

"Oh, don't say that," Trixie protested with a low moan. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the thought. As much as she loved her brothers and her two best friends, the sisters of her heart, she couldn't handle anymore. She simply couldn't. "Two is more than enough for me. No more, puh-lease!"

Dan lifted a shoulder and swallowed a sigh. "If you can handle what I've done, you'd be fine with anything the others could dish out. I don't think any one of them would be able to top me." Lying back in his seat, getting himself comfortable, he started ticking off his slight indiscretions on his fingers. "Let's see, Hollywood. Since I've been in Vegas I've managed to almost blow your cover, tell Jim here your big secret, get myself stuck in these two suites, and listened in on quite an eventful evening. I don't think anyone could top what I've done so far. And, with most of that happening right here in this suite, I still think that Las Vegas is one of the most interesting cities I've ever been to."

"And to think you've hardly stepped foot in it." Trixie made a tsking sound, taking his list with the proverbial grain of salt. "All I can say is you certainly know how to make your mark, Dan."

"It's all this charm, Hollywood." He tossed back his head, curled the edge of one lip, and held out his hands. "You see, I'm irresistible."

Jim hooted with laughter. If Dan had been sitting next to him, he would have kicked out the back legs of his chair. "That's quite an ego you've got there, Danny boy."

Trixie joined in the laughter until part of what he said finally registered. "Whoa, there! Back up a minute," she declared. Leaning across the table, nearly upsetting a bowl of strawberries and other assorted fruit, she grabbed his forearm. "What do you mean? Listened in? On what?"

Jim forced himself to focus on Dan and not on the sight of the charming derriere bent over the table, only about a foot from his flexing hand. "Your Max gave him a special app, Trixie," he informed her quietly, gripping the curved edge of the table so he didn't grip something else instead.

"So you heard…everything?" she spoke, letting go of his wrist and dropping back in her seat.

Dan rubbed his wrist, surprised she had such a strong grip, and granted her a cautious look. "Yeah. I heard everything. I almost went up to the penthouse to…ah…assist you when Shane barged in and…ah…ordered me to stay right here." It hadn't been a pretty scene…and, once again, Shane had sported another bloody nose, courtesy of one irate DEA agent who did not want to stay put.

Trixie blew at a wayward curl. Lifting her chin, she declared a bit haughtily, "Then you already know how much Jim did for me."

"Whoever knew Jim Frayne could be such an accomplished liar?" He shook his head slowly, equally as dumbfounded now as he had been the night before, and spoke in a tone filled with awe, "Shocked the hell out of me."

"I don't like lying. You both know that. But I can do it…if I have the right incentive," Jim replied, his voice rough and husky. He concentrated on cutting up the pancakes on his plate and didn't look up.

She grabbed the first thing at hand to keep from blushing again. A healthy sip of coffee helped. She felt an inward glow because Jim had chosen to lie _all for her_. "It wasn't a very fun evening, Dan. I knew something was terribly off from the second the butler answered the door. He was dressed in civilian clothes, you know," Trixie admitted quietly before releasing a small sigh.

"Usually a tip-off," Dan agreed, trying to smile and sound light-hearted when what he really wanted was to meet Mr. Young and his right-hand man alone somewhere, preferably in a dark, isolated alley. Or maybe on a boat, out in the middle of the large, imposing and completed deserted Pacific, without anyone around for miles upon miles. It had possibilities, he mused to himself, letting his imagination wander.

"And his wife wasn't home either, which meant Mr. Young had the whole place to himself. Wait…his wife…his wife…I seem to remember…" She put her mug back on the table with a hard rap. A lone finger tapped against the glossy tabletop while a blurry memory of a woman formed. Ginny Young. Tall, blonde, lots of make-up, and really long fingernails. Her eyebrows furrowed while the picture slowly pulled together in her mind. "That's right. She was there, too."

"Yeah. She was. Right at the end. She returned as we were leaving," Jim shared, watching Trixie closely.

She tilted her head to the side as she recalled it all. "Of course, Mr. Young didn't tell her what he'd done. No, he lied and told her that our meeting had to be cut short and that he was planning on meeting with us again today. And she said something about wanting in on our meeting. Today's meeting. She wants…" Just then a series of loud musical chirps sounded out, coming from the vicinity of the living room. Slipping into secret agent mode right in front of two very interested pairs of eyes, Trixie was out of the room like a shot, well aware of who was on the other line, and planning out the correct way to respond to her.

With careful precision, Dan laid down his fork, his appetite rapidly diminishing. "Since we are in Vegas, do you care to wager who is calling?"

Jim got up much slower than Trixie had and glanced towards her empty seat. "Nope. We both know who it is."

"What do you think she wants?" Dan inquired as he skirted around the table, his trusty cup of coffee in his hands. Leaving most of the food untouched, they started walking towards the sound of the extremely cheerful voice coming from the living room.

"I'm not sure," he answered and didn't offer another word, choosing to walk the rest of the way in silence. Jim came to a halt. Trixie was near the terrace doors, her back to them. He watched as she cradled the cell with one hand and brushed back the curtain with another. A long beam of sunlight played over her, turning her lovely curls to precious gold. She was staring out over the courtyard and laughing at something the person said on the other line. It wasn't her usual laugh. It was certainly being used for effect, which made Jim feel better. He bit the inside of his cheek, wary about the content of the conversation, and positive he wouldn't like its outcome.

Dan studied Jim as closely as he was studying Trixie. Breaking the silence between them, he leaned back against the wall and said, "You know, I must say that I'm very impressed with you, Frayne."

He tore his gaze away from her, wondering what he'd done that could possibly have made an impression on Dan. "What do you mean?"

"Never in a million years did I ever expect you to find out the truth behind Trixie's job. If I ever expected you to, I would have bet everything I have in the bank, which isn't much, mind you, that you wouldn't have accepted it." Dan shook his head. "I would have been very wrong."

Jim kept quiet, knowing that he wouldn't have accepted it at all if they hadn't had the private time together over the past few days. He couldn't turn his back on what was developing between them, something that promised to be much stronger and more potent than their relationship of years past. He didn't say anything to Dan. Instead, he concentrated on Trixie.

Dan crossed one ankle over the other. "I'm proud of you, old man," he said and clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder. "You made it much easier on our girl over there."

It took him a minute to formulate a response. A slight red color flooded his face. Hoarsely, he admitted, "She shared a lot with me last night. I understood everything much better now."

Not only accept but understand. Amazing. Dan silently applauded his friend. "Good for you," he murmured.

He recalled the night before, of the conversation they had after he'd seen her tattoo. "She has a burn on her back. You know, from where she got hit. I applied the salve to it and saw her…um…"

"Tattoo," Dan finished for him, a knowing look entering his eyes. While Trixie had never discussed the reasoning behind the tattoo, it hadn't taken a rocket scientist to figure out the symbolism behind it. And Jim knew. Even better, Trixie had told him. "It's a pretty cool one. I mean, it's a little too girly for me. Stars aren't exactly my thing, you know." He shrugged a careless shoulder while the edges of his lips tugged upwards. "Trixie wears it extremely well."

He kept his response to himself. No way was he admitting to a grinning Mangan that Trixie more than wore the tattoo well. And he definitely wasn't sharing what he'd learned about the symbolism behind it, how much it meant to him or how knowing about it made him feel. He wasn't stupid. He wouldn't get out of the suite alive. Dan would have him for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Her whispering audience wasn't exactly being quiet. Trixie tuned them out the best that she could and took her time in ending the call. Slowly, she pivoted around and squared her shoulders. They weren't going to be ecstatic about the person who'd been on the other end of her phone call, of that she had no doubt. Pasting a carefree sort of a smile on her face, she started breezing her way towards them. "Well, that was Mrs. Young," she shared cheerfully as she neared them.

"Tell us something we don't know," Dan grumbled lowly, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Trixie tried hard not to focus on Jim; she really did. But it was nearly impossible. Now that he knew, now that he was aware of her job, she couldn't help but look right at him. As an equal, a full equal, not someone who was merely being used to help them fulfill a mission. "She feels very sorry for what her husband did last night," she started softly, unintentionally ignoring Dan.

He couldn't mistake the offering. She was allowing him in, letting him know what had happened without him asking. He nodded briefly in acknowledgment, thanking her for the unexpected gift, and grinned when she smiled back.

"She should feel sorry," Dan complained into the quiet, eyes turning darker than normal.

Trixie continued looking at Jim. She couldn't bring herself to look anywhere else. "She wants to make up for it. Apparently she had a long talk with her husband last night after we left. She knows something happened. I don't think she knows exactly what." She lifted a slim shoulder. "But she knows enough to regret her husband's behavior."

"And?" Dan prompted when Trixie stopped talking again.

"And she's invited me to spend the day with her. It's a gift, from her to me. All expenses paid. She firmly believes in compensating for her husband's 'mistakes in judgment', which is how she put it." It sounded like pure hell for her but, as an agent, she didn't have any choice but to agree to the plans Ginny Young had for her. Trixie barely resisted the urge to shudder. Spa, salon, shopping. Yeah. All things she simply adored doing, she thought with an inward snort of disdain. Fun.

"What are you going to do together?" Dan inquired quietly, certain that she'd already agreed to the plans.

"Oh, you know, lots of exciting stuff," Trixie replied, trying not to grimace. She wasn't very successful. The two men both knew her too well. "Apparently she's already made an appointment for us at a luxurious spa across town. Then she wants to take me to the salon and to a few exclusive shops she enjoys patronizing. I also believe she wants to end our day together with a dinner at her favorite restaurant."

"It sounds…dreadful," Dan said sympathetically, shuddering for her. "You're going to absolutely hate it."

"Tell me about it." Trixie sighed and brushed back a particularly annoying strand of hair. It disobeyed and immediately fell back into its rightful place, dangling from her forehead. "She's expecting me in the lobby in one hour."

Silent through it all, Jim finally spoke up. "Okay. I'll walk you down."

"Thanks." Trixie's smile wasn't as carefree as it had been a short while ago. "Ginny told me that Mr. Young is going to be calling you soon," she warned him. "He's supposed to be inviting you to play a round of golf."

Dan started chuckling, imagining the sight of Jim playing golf with Mr. Young and Ritch. It was too amusing. "Luxurious spa or golf course? Me, I think I'd rather take the spa day, myself."

She gave a small chuckle before turning back to Jim. "You're lucky. You don't have to accept it, Jim. Ginny told me that Mr. Young is only offering it to you because she goaded him into it. He's not expecting you to accept his invitation so you should feel free to decline it."

Mr. Young, a nine-iron, and a secluded corner of a golf course. It sounded more appealing than it should have. Jim's eyes darkened briefly before he admitted his fantasy was better left as that, and not acted out in real life. His family would be awfully disappointed with him if he were to spend the next thirty years or so in a jail in Nevada. "I guess I'm the lucky one, then."

"And how." She tucked back the errant curl again with a frustrated hand. "I'll have to tell Max about our new plans."

"Will you be safe?" Forgetting Dan was standing next to him, he reached out, caught her hand within his, and looked deeply at her.

"Of course I'll be. I'm merely going to have to act like I adore pampering and shopping. No problem, right?" Loving the feel of her hand in his, Trixie momentarily overlooked the fact that they weren't alone in the room. "Plus I'll have my cell. It's got that great new app on it. I can call for back-up anytime it's needed. I'll have my gun. And I'm sure I'll have a few members of my back-up team trailing behind me every step of the way, probably taking pictures that they'll torture me with later. I'll be fine."

With his free hand, he gently brushed back the wayward curl, which obeyed him. His knuckles ran along the gentle lines of her cheekbone. "Are you certain?"

"No worries, Jim. At least, not about me." She leaned into his touch and let out a small hum of approval that he felt all the way to the tips of his toes. "Ginny's footing the entire bill. Or, more accurately, her husband is. I couldn't say no. There's simply no way Beatrix Johnson would ever pass up on an all-expenses paid shopping trip with a side visit to a spa."

He stepped closer to her. His other hand rested lightly on her hip. "So, it's really all right if I decline the golf game when it's offered?"

She unconsciously stood on her tip-toes, bringing herself into closer contact with him, allowing only the thinnest amount of space to exist between them. "Definitely. Mr. Young doesn't like golf either."

"You've got an hour before you have to leave?" His fingers flexed against her hip.

"Hmm. A busy one. I need to talk to Max, grab a shower, and decide on which one of my lovely outfits I want to wear today." Her voice went raspy, seemed to go lower the closer he got, and the more he touched. She reached out, curled a hand around his waist, and turned her face up to his. When she snuck her other hand into Jim's, a small smile touched her face.

_Unbelievable._ It was all Dan could think. Before it got exceedingly embarrassing; most likely for him, since the two of them had completely forgotten he was even alive, let alone in the same room, Dan made his first attempt. He coughed. Loudly. Neither Jim nor Trixie blinked. In fact, the space separating them seemed to grow that much smaller. Deciding something big needed to happen, and quick, before he witnessed something he really didn't want to witness; Dan reached out for something to help him distract the couple. His fingers brushed against a lampshade. Quickly, and not a moment too soon, he sent the whole thing crashing to the floor, where it landed with a muffled heap on the carpet.

Trixie jumped at the untimely interruption, her heart racing a mile a minute. A blush immediately followed. She made an inarticulate sound, whether one of disappointment or embarrassment she didn't know, and stepped back from Jim. But her hand stayed within his. And she couldn't take her eyes away from him.

Dan studied the two of them before flicking back a strand of his overly long hair. "Good Lord," he joked in sham seriousness. "If I knew you were going to act like this I'd never have come out to Las Vegas. I would have flown directly home instead"

"Ah…" Jim frowned at Dan. One hand still clutched Trixie's; the other had moved to her back. He pulled her to his side. "We don't seem to remember inviting you here."

He took the blatant reprimand with a cheerful shrug of his shoulders. "True. Although I do have to say that I'm having one _hell _of a time so far. Seriously, I'm seeing sights I'd never expected to see again. Watching you two dance around each other is better than any floor show this city could offer. Then there's the added bonus that I don't even have to leave my room. How's that for convenience?" He blinked his eyes at them innocently.

"Oh, shut up," Trixie grumbled, glaring daggers at Dan.

"Imaginative response you've got there, Hollywood." Dan rolled back on his heels, a mile-wide grin on his face. "Cracker-jack one."

She ignored the maniacally grinning man. Dealing with him simply wasn't worth the effort. Not right now, especially when she wouldn't get anywhere. Dan would only think of another way to poke and prod at them. Speaking directly to Jim, she explained, "I don't have much time left. I've got to update Max right now. He needs to know about my plans. Then I'll…" When Dan started to chuckle again, she tossed an annoyed look over her shoulder, the kind of look she usually reserved for her brother Mart, and gave him a serious glower, one that promised retribution at the earliest possible moment. Turning back to Jim, she finished, a bit breathlessly, "See you soon."

"Have fun," he murmured lowly. Jim gave her a small smile of encouragement and watched her until she opened the connecting door. Then he gave Dan a light punch on the shoulder. "And she's right. You can just shut the hell up," he grumbled before heading to the bedroom.

Dan held his hands out in front of him and spoke to Jim's departing back. "Hey, Frayne! You've got to forgive me. Here I am, stuck going between this suite and the other one. I've got to find some way of amusing myself!" When two doors closed in quick succession, one to the dining room and one to Max's suite, he couldn't help it and collapsed against the wall. Laughter, the solid kind of laughter that reverberated off walls, rolled up and out of him in uncontrollable waves. Vegas wasn't going to be nearly as bad as he'd thought it was. He already had a whole host of stories to tell the others, should he ever be able to. Whistling, he ambled his way back down the hallway. There was a lot of good food left.


	24. Chapter 24

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Four

There were times when an hour could feel more like a year instead of the sixty short minutes it was meant to be. He ought to know. He'd experienced the sensation often enough in his life. But then there times when the exact same amount of time practically sprouted wings and flew by, going by with such swiftness that he didn't even realize it had slipped from the top of the hourglass down into the bottom. Today was one of the latter times. She had an appointment to keep, no matter how much he didn't want her to go, no matter how much he wanted her to stay with him. Ignoring the everyday bustle of the front lobby as guests clamored about, Jim grabbed her hand before they stepped through the sliding doors. "Are you certain you want to go through with this?" he whispered urgently.

Keeping a smile pinned on her lips, Trixie laced her fingers through his and brought him out into the warm Nevada sunshine. "I don't want to do this. I have to do it," she whispered back, her words quiet but strong. As casually as possible, she reached into her ever-present purse, pulled out her rhinestone-studded sunglasses, and slipped them on. She still needed to shade her forehead with her hands. More for the benefit of anyone who could possibly be observing them, she inquired, wanting to move on to another topic of conversation, "Can you believe how bright it is today?"

Recognizing the tactic, realizing she was completely in character, Jim reluctantly followed suit. He didn't have any other choice. "It's been a while since we've stepped foot outside the hotel," he noted. He gripped her hand tightly and thought how nice it would be if he could drag her back inside and back up to their suite, where they could stay away from anyone in the whole of Las Vegas whose last name was Young. Male or female, he didn't trust either of them. And Ritch…his face settled into thin lines of impotent fury.

"Jim, you're right. We haven't left the hotel since the day we arrived," she remarked, surprised by the revelation. They had both arrived Wednesday afternoon, with only mere minutes separating them. Now here it was, Sunday, and they had spent each and every moment of the mission within the boundaries of the hotel. They hadn't gone anywhere else. In a stunned voice, she continued, "I didn't realize it until now. Man, we've managed to find an awful lot to keep us entertained right here, in this hotel."

There were more than a few instances that immediately sprang to mind. Jim gave a small cough, doing his best to ignore the most recent memories of the two of them together, and suggested lowly, "Come on. Let's find some shade."

Trixie angled her head. "Okay," she agreed, although her agreement wasn't really necessary. Jim was already pulling her along with him. She gave a roll of her eyes behind his back and, for once, obediently followed along.

Unconsciously lacing his fingers through hers, he led her towards a bench charmingly placed where any lingerers could watch the pretty fountain. A nearby tree offered a comfortable amount of shade, making the heat of the day a little more bearable. "Are you certain you'd rather wait outside for Ginny Young and not inside? The lobby has central air, you know. The outside…" He intentionally let his voice trail off, motioned with his free hand, and shared his crooked grin with her. "Well, let's just say that it definitely does not."

"It is warmer," Trixie acknowledged without hesitating. "However, I'd much rather stay out here." She carefully placed her purse on the bench and took her place next to it. In a regal pose, she tucked one ankle behind the other and folded her hands in her lap, every inch the poised and self-confident lady, which seemed rather ironic with the white Playboy Bunny insignia taking up the front of her black tank-top. "Even though it's much warmer, I feel more comfortable. Not as many eyes and ears, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do," he agreed under his breath. A private man, he didn't appreciate constantly being put on display, for any and for all to see, but it was a small price to pay for his decision to step in and help Trixie out with her case. It was more than worth it. Not only did his agreement carve out a lot of special, private time with her, he also knew the complete truth about her. Definitely worth the loss of privacy. When her cell went off, he shook away his thoughts and crowded in closer. Curious, he stared down at the mass of blonde curls piled up on her head, trying to read her newest message and failing utterly.

After typing back a quick response, Trixie slipped her cell back into her purse and met his interested gaze squarely. Before he could give life to the question, she explained quickly, "It was from Ginny Young. She texted me to say that she's running late. We've got about ten minutes before she'll be here. She said she'll meet us out in front, by the fountain." Which meant that someone was, indeed, watching them and had informed one or both of the Youngs of their exact whereabouts. Typical, she thought with a small huff of annoyance. Surreptitiously, she glanced around the front of the hotel but couldn't spot anything unusual or suspicious. Normal tourists, doing normal touristy-type stuff.

"Just as long as her husband isn't with her," Jim grumbled under his breath. Dark tinted shades kept Trixie from seeing the bright flare of temper. Even though his partner of the moment had tried hard to impose on him the importance of being civil with Young, he wasn't confident in his ability. In fact, he didn't have any desire to so much as look at the man, let alone carry on a conversation with him. One lip curled up in a dangerous half-grin while he studied his bunched fist. Really, there was only one thing he wanted to do with Mr. Young.

"There's no need to worry. I doubt he'll be coming down to greet us." Speaking lowly, she averted her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction. It hadn't escaped her attention that Jim wasn't exactly ecstatic about forging ahead with the deal after their encounter in the penthouse from the evening before. Not that she could blame him. If the situation had been reversed…Trixie bit down on her bottom lip. She couldn't accurately predict how she would have reacted had Jim been the target, and not her. The only thing she knew with certainty was that it wouldn't have been pretty. In an attempt to distract herself from her current train of thought, she concentrated on the tiny dips in the sidewalk, finally noticing how a mixture of sunlight and shade dappled the sidewalk in a pleasing way. "Umm…so, since it's going to be awhile longer, do you want to go back inside to wait?"

"Nah. Ten minutes isn't that long." Personally, he couldn't believe his luck. He'd just been wishing for more time with her and there it was, practically given to him on a silver platter. He wasn't about to waste a second of it and sat down next to her. As unobtrusively as possible, he draped an arm around the back of the wooden bench and fought the urge to pull the silvery pins out of her hair. Instead, he stared straight ahead, finding it odd that he felt more like a nervous teenager making his first move instead of a man rapidly closing in on twenty-eight.

Just like that, Trixie's mind turned to mush. Her lips wouldn't work to offer one, even if she had been capable of thought. A new kind of warmth assaulted her, one that had absolutely nothing to do with Celsius or Fahrenheit or a Nevada summer day. Her body knew what to do, even if her mind was currently in shut-down mode. Without realizing it, without any clue she'd ordered her body to move, she found herself flush up against his side. Wide-eyed, she glanced up at him. When his arm tightened around her, she dredged up enough courage from within and carefully laid her hand on his knee. Wanting to keep his attention focused away from where she was touching him, and quite voluntarily, too, she asked hurriedly, hoping, just hoping, he wouldn't jerk away from her or question her about it, "How'd your phone call with Mr. Young go?"

"Short, sweet and to the point." Jim shrugged a shoulder, inwardly delighted. Enjoying her touch, he copied her and ran his fingers along her shoulder, grateful for the amount of golden skin offered up for him. Tank-tops were wonderful in his book. Concentrating on the question, he answered, his voice huskier than normal, "An offer of golf was made, I refused it as politely as possible, and that was it. It lasted a total of two minutes, if that."

A wind blew by, gently teasing a loose strand of hair. She caught it, tucked it back behind her ear, and tilted her head to the side. "Lucky you," she murmured quietly.

He loved having her right next to him, as close as two people could possibly get on a bench. Leaning down, Jim whispered in her ear, unaware that his breath caused shivers to race up and down her spine, "You're not too excited about today's outing, are you?"

"Nope," was her immediate response. Turning her head into the side of his, she murmured quietly, her breath lightly fanning against his cheek, "I wish I could cancel but I can't. Max feels, and I agree with him, that it's truly a great opportunity to get our relationship with Mr. Young back on the right footing. It's an offer I simply can't refuse."

Her breath against his cheek was whisper-soft. There was no reason for it to cause him to tingle, especially in certain places. A flush started and quickly grew, one that had nothing to do with the heat of the afternoon. It took an effort, almost a superhuman one, but he pushed aside his own desires, and pressed his lips against her ear. He said as quietly as possible, just in case someone should be attempting to listen in, "Convince me here, Trix. How do I know you're going to be safe when you're away from me?"

Using the almost-embrace as an effective cover to hide the content of their conversation, she turned her head so that her lips were now near his ear. "I'm CDA, Jim," she declared quietly, a note of pride in her whispered voice. "Trust me when I say that I can handle whatever happens today or any day. You don't need to worry. Not about this. Not about me."

Incredibly, his flush deepened. Not because of the truth behind her explanation but from the location of her lips. Right by his earlobe. "I know," he managed to get out, resting his head on the side of hers. Staring unseeingly ahead, looking at the continuously moving water in the fountain but never really noticing it, he said, "But even knowing that doesn't change matters, Trix. I still need to know you're safe."

She inhaled sharply before laying her head on his shoulder. It felt so good to be resting within the curve of his neck. So unbelievably right. "I'll text you." When he nuzzled her head with his chin, she added meaningfully, "A lot."

"You'd better." Jim closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her shampoo. As usual, it was the sweet, tantalizing smell of berries. God, he loved it. Rather hoarsely, he admitted aloud, "I'm not going to leave the suite. I'll be there, the whole time." _Waiting for you_. He didn't speak it aloud, kept the thought to himself. There was simply no way in hell he was going to concentrate on anything else but wondering where Trixie was, and what she was doing. Frequent texts would help; hopefully, in half-hour or less intervals.

Trixie nodded her head, in total understanding for his concern. She'd made damn sure before she'd left Max's suite that Jim, and Dan, too, would have as much protection as possible. She wasn't anticipating any problems any longer but…she wanted to have all her bases covered, just in case. Half of her back-up team was staying in the hotel, watching over them, with Max as the one left in charge, at her insistence. He wasn't ecstatic about it, had initially refused to do it, and had only given in when he realized how futile it was to argue against her. As she'd pointed out, she was CDA and her friends were not. In her professional opinion, they needed more protection than she did. "I'll keep you updated. You've got my promise, Jim."

"I'll hold you to it," he replied and finally noticed the gentle motion of the water, how it flowed and moved in a never-ending cyclical dance. He sat there, with Trixie tucked under his arm, savoring the quietness, savoring her nearness, savoring their dwindling time. Needing a change of subject, he inquired, "You realize that this afternoon is going to be the first time we've spent any time apart since we got here, don't you?"

Another realization that had slipped her mind. She'd been too consumed with her mission and Jim, and not necessarily in that order, to take notice of everything going on around her. "You're right," she breathed out, stunned again, and burrowed her head in further against him. "I didn't realize it. I guess because it's been a very eventful trip so far, with lots of little unusual surprises around each corner." She chuckled softly. Eventful, unusual, and surprising were three apt words to describe the current state of her mission and his vacation.

"Would you change any part of it?" He knew he wouldn't, not even the untimely and unexpected arrival of their pal Daniel Mangan. Without Dan's arrival, he doubted if he would have found out the total truth behind Trixie's job. While it hadn't been the easiest of revelations for him, and his reaction hadn't been his proudest of moments, he wouldn't trade it, not for anything. He knew. And that was all that mattered.

"I wouldn't change a thing," she answered truthfully, keeping her eyes averted.

Her answer did it. He'd been bottling up his desires for too long; since the second they'd come out into the sunlight. Finally going with it, he slipped off her sunglasses, dropped them into the open purse besides them on the bench, and stared down into the brightest blue eyes he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. Right now they were squinting against the overwhelming brightness of the afternoon, and held a little touch of annoyance he couldn't help but find endearing. A satisfied half-grin crossed his mouth. He had what he wanted. He could look into her eyes. And that was a requirement for what he wanted to do next.

"Hey!" Trixie cried, rapidly blinking against the extreme brightness of the day. Even the shade offered by the tree didn't offer much help. Frowning, she immediately tried to retrieve her sunglasses from her purse. "What'd you do that for?"

A large hand beat her to it, covered the opening of her purse, blocking her from reaching in. Slowly, he slid his own sunglasses off. He wasn't as particular where his landed. The expensive sunglasses slipped through a crack on the bench boards, landed with a clattered thud on the sidewalk that neither paid the slightest attention to. One of the lenses popped out. "I want to see you," he tried to explain in answer to the near glare she was gifting him with. Although his explanation wasn't completely right. It wasn't so much as a desire to see her fueled by a mere want. No, it was driven completely and totally by need.

Her annoyance evaporated as swiftly as a puddle of water in the nearby desert. Her heart stuttered, almost painfully so, before picking up a new and completely random rhythm. "Wh…wh…why?" was all she was able to stammer out past suddenly dry lips while the simple act of breathing turned into something completely different. It wasn't so simple anymore.

"When I do this." His answer was low and husky. Tenderly, he cradled her face with one hand while the other worked to make a mess of her hair. Fingers slid in. Pins scattered every which way, allowing the abundance of curls to fall free. Leaning back, he took the time to appreciate the sight of the soft golden locks underneath his touch. Then he focused on her face. Her eyes weren't squinting anymore. They were large and open and, much to his masculine delight, absolutely dazed. And they hadn't even started yet, he thought with an inner grin of pure masculine satisfaction.

Trixie only had time for one short gasp before lips claimed hers. Gently, sweetly. Tenderly. An absolutely perfect fit for hers. So incredibly perfect. As soon as the thought formed through the mush her brain had become, she was filled with an overwhelming need to prove to him the truth of it. Straining forward, fired by an urgency she didn't quite understand, she met his lead and unashamedly demanded more. He didn't hesitate and met her, kiss for voracious kiss. It didn't matter that they were on a public street, in full view of any passer-byers. It didn't matter that she had an appointment to keep, and very soon. Truly, in that one perfect moment, nothing mattered but him and the way he made her feel.

It felt like he held molten lava under his hands. Hot, fiery, fierce. He was helpless to do anything but follow, wherever she chose to lead him. Under her lead, the embrace quickly turned wilder than the rapid staccato beat his heart was pounding out. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, while she silently asked for more, much more, from him. Unmindful that they were on a public street, unaware that more than a few passing tourists tossed a few fascinated glances their way; he met her demands. Tongue, lips, teeth. All were utilized.

A sound that could only be a throat clearing broke through the passionate spell wound around them. Trixie heard it first. Breathing hard, she drew back from Jim, her cheeks a vibrant red, and an astonishingly soft look to her eyes, while her mouth dropped into a small O of astonishment. She'd practically devoured him, right there on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, right where anyone could have watched them. It was Vegas, of course, but... "Oh, my," were the only words she was capable of uttering.

Jim lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "My thoughts exactly," he mumbled before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the presence of the woman he could just make out of his peripheral vision.

Trixie caught the sight of bright pink, her hostess's favorite color, and carefully disengaged herself from Jim's embrace, all the while smiling apologetically at him. On legs that wanted to buckle, she slowly stood up, using the arm of the bench to help steady herself until she could stand on her own. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Young," she said politely as if she hadn't just been engaged in one hell of a series of kisses.

"It's Ginny," she insisted, a small smile playing across her lips. "I absolutely insist that you call me Ginny." She slowly tapped a fingernail painted a vivid pink and topped with a crystal sequin against her lips. "And you prefer Trixie, am I right?"

Her cheeks still flushed, Trixie slipped her smaller hand into Jim's and nodded. "I'll answer to Beatrix, of course, but I like Trixie much better."

"That's what my husband said." Ginny let her extremely made-up eyes travel over Trixie first, taking in the black tank-top and denim mini-skirt of her special guest. The sight of the famous bunny made her chuckle. Then she moved on to studying the fiancé. Although a married woman for nearly half her life, she enjoyed seeing a fine specimen of the male variety. And Beatrix Johnson definitely had herself a fine one, a more than fine one. Supple came to mind. Her smile was large and flirtatious. "And I remember meeting you last night. Will you be joining my husband this afternoon?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not," he said, infusing as much regret into his voice as he could. "Golf is not my favorite sport." He didn't add that there was simple no way in hell he'd voluntarily spend any time with Mr. Young. Somehow, he didn't think the man's wife would appreciate the cold hard truth.

Ginny gave a majestic nod of her head. "I'm sorry to hear that although I completely understand your point of view. I'm not a huge fan of golf, myself." She let out a small sigh. "Let me assure you that I'm going to take very good care of your fiancée here."

Trixie swiftly settled into character. She didn't have room for mistakes. "We're going to have a marvelous time together, aren't we, Mrs…I mean, Ginny?"

"You'd better believe. If there is one thing I know how to do, it is spend my husband's money!" Ginny giggled and held up her expensive watch. "But I'm afraid we must be going if we want to make our appointment at the spa on time." She faced Jim. "It was wonderful to meet you again. I trust you plan on joining your lovely fiancée and myself for dinner, correct?"

"Of course," Jim answered immediately, although he hadn't known until that moment that he'd been invited to dinner.

"Excellent!" Clapping her hands, Ginny beamed up at him. "I'll have Trixie here send you the pertinent information later on in the afternoon. Time. Place. You know, that type of stuff. Right now, though, it's time for you two lovebirds to say farewell."

Grateful to be without the barrier of sunglasses, she stared up into the sea of emerald green, and cursed the fact that Ginny Young wasn't making any effort to hide the fact that she was watching them, and quite closely too. Her blush returned, ten-fold. Whispering raspily, she declared, "I'll be in touch. Often."

Ignoring the woman a few short feet away, he ran a finger along the edge of her cheekbone. "I'll have my cell with me," he replied huskily and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. "Be safe."

"Don't worry," she murmured back and winked at him. She lifted her hand, waved a soft farewell, and drifted back over to where Ginny stood waiting for her. Once she reached her hostess for the afternoon, she gave Jim an encouraging nod, hoping he knew that she was going to be fine. Only then did he turn and stride back towards the front doors of the hotel. When he reached them, he turned around for one last look. Expecting it, Trixie blew a soft kiss his way. Realizing he wouldn't enter the building until she made the final break, she smiled and faced her hostess of the afternoon, all the while watching Jim out of the corner of her eye. He finally went back through the sliding glass doors and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. He would be taken care of; of that she had no doubt. Max wouldn't let her down.

Ginny slowly undid the ties of her fancy pink hat and started fanning herself with it. "I must say, my darling Trixie, that you have quite a handsome man there."

Trixie's smile was genuine; as was the light in her eyes. "Thanks," she said.

Ginny released a laugh that had a braying sound to it. She cupped Trixie's elbow and started pulling her down the sidewalk, her determined strides taking them to a long white limousine parked near the front of the hotel. "You are going to have to tell me all about that fine young man of yours. I want to know everything. Where you met, how you became engaged, what your wedding plans are. I cannot wait to hear every delicious detail! You can't leave anything out. I simply must know."

Spa. Salon. Shopping. And now sharing private details of her love life…or, more accurately, Beatrix Johnson's love life. The day promised to be a spectacular one. She could almost see the sarcasm dripping off her thoughts. Trixie bravely ignored the tension headache forming behind her right temple. Striving to match Ginny's light tone, she called out playfully, "I generally don't kiss and tell but…" She finished it with a saucy wink.

Ginny winked back. "We'll save all the _good_ talk for later. Maybe when we're at the spa or having our pedicures."

Only Trixie knew the effort it took to keep from wincing. "I can't wait!" she replied gaily and strolled next to the lady at her side, all the while wishing she was riding the elevator back up to their suite with Jim.

"You can entertain me with the plans for your wedding. We'll start with the details. Where, when, color scheme, food, songs...all the wonderful elements that make a wedding." Ginny came to a halt, her eyes shining as she reminisced, "I can still remember every detail of my wedding to Eric. We had it here, right in Las Vegas. It's just as vivid to me as if it was yesterday. The pretty pink roses. The white lace on my dress. The music and the way he looked waiting for me at the altar. You may not know it but my Eric is quite the romantic," she shared in a breathy aside.

Trixie's smile nearly faltered. Romantic was one of the very last adjectives she'd ever use to describe that hideous man. "How…wonderful," she said, nearly stuttering over the superlative.

"Oh, he is." Ginny swallowed a sigh, using her hat as a fan again. "Believe me, he truly is."

There wasn't any way she could come up with a satisfactory response. Trixie murmured something inarticulate and grasped ahold of the first thing she could to distract Ginny from sharing any unwanted confidences about her husband, and a man she personally detested. Salvation came in the form of the vehicle they were walking to. "My goodness! Is that your limo?"

"Oh, it's merely one of our vehicles," Ginny replied, trying to appear nonchalant when all she really wanted to do was brag and boast. "But the limo is my very favorite vehicle to travel in. I use it all the time. I designed the interior, too. I picked the color scheme and all the extra amenities. It was one of my pet projects last fall. Come on. Take a look." She barely acknowledged the unsmiling driver, entered the backseat, and settled herself on the white leather, pointing out the features as she did so. "You see, the inside is all white and pink, two of my favorite colors."

Trixie gazed around the vehicle with what she hoped was wide-eyed rapture. The seats were all white leather. And the walls were definitely pink, as was the carpeting. Definitely a feminine vehicle. It carried a shocking resemblance to the color scheme of her house in San Diego. She made a vow then and there to change her house, and soon. She had trouble imagining Mr. Young or any of his henchmen ever deigning to ride in it. Trixie fingered the delicate petals of a pink rose, one of many in an attached vase, and was shocked to realize they were fresh and not fake. She declared in what she hoped was a properly impressed voice, "Wow, Ginny! This is absolutely amazing!"

"Thank you, darling," Ginny Young answered with a light laugh. Pleased to be able to show off the opulence of her vehicle, she flipped open a compartment with more of a flourish than was necessary and pulled out a bottle of champagne. Two crystal flutes were next. She poured a generous amount of the liquid into each and offered one to Trixie. With the cheerfulness of a lark, she sang out, "Let's get this expedition started off right, shall we?"

Since her cell didn't bleep out any warnings about the contents of the drink, Trixie accepted the delicate glass with a smile. Making a show of mimicking Ginny, she purposefully followed her moves and took a dainty sip of the bubbly liquid. "Delicious," she declared after a small hum of approval.

Ginny leaned across to tap Trixie's knee. "Champagne is my favorite drink. My husband favors wine. Me?" She waved an airy hand. "I can't help it. I like the bubbly stuff. It seems much more elegant to me or something. In fact, I've always considered it my signature drink, just like pink is my favorite color and roses are my preferred flowers."

"The taste is just lovely." Trixie sipped carefully, mentally ordering herself not to play with the strap of her purse.

A small silence ensued. Nothing embarrassing, nothing awkward, but enough to show both of them that they were truly just beginning to know each other. Ginny took a deep breath before diving into the subject she blamed for the silence. "I'm delighted to see you looking so much better than I saw you last night. My husband shared a little about your meeting. Just a little, mind you." She sighed, a little too loudly, showing she was rather frustrated with her husband and his refusal to tell her all that had occurred. "I couldn't pry everything out of him. He was extremely tight-lipped about the whole thing. All I could get out of him was the fact that you weren't feeling well last night."

While supporting Mr. Young wasn't high up on her list of priorities, Trixie found herself doing so without a qualm. All for the sake of her mission. "He's right. All of a sudden I started feeling off-balanced. It was a good thing Jim was there with me. He got me back to our suite without any problems."

Ginny studied her closely over the rim of her flute while a knowing look entered her eyes. Her husband couldn't fool her. Neither could the woman serenely sitting across the seat. Something untoward had happened last night. Obviously she wasn't meant to find out the reasoning behind it. She gave in with a philosophical shrug and chuckled wryly, "I didn't think I'd get much more out of you, either, but I thought it was worth a shot."

Trixie put her half-full glass on a small built-in table. It amused her to note that the table was decorated with pink tile. She leaned across and stared directly into Ginny's face. "As far as I'm concerned, last night is over and done with. I'm ready…no, make that eager, to move on from there. In fact, I'm looking forward to what happens next. Like our shared plans for the day."

"I understand. We'll put the subject to rest." Ginny polished off the rest of her champagne and gamely poured herself another one. One who always used her hands when she spoke, she flitted her fingers this way and that, sprinkling a little of the liquid on the empty seat near her. "Now, for today. We're on our way to the spa. Rest and relaxation first. It's going to be awesome. I ordered the works for us. After a few hours of pampering, it's off to the salon for some serious primping. Then we're going shopping and we'll finally round out our day together with a superb dinner." And another surprise. She didn't let on although a delighted gleam entered her eyes. Her husband hadn't been in favor of the idea but had given in when he'd realized how important it was to her. There was a point to all the primping and pampering. A serious point. She toasted her guest with her flute, pleased that Trixie didn't have a clue about the ultimate climax of their day together. She could hardly wait to share it with her but understood that keeping it a surprise would be better for the overall effect. "Trixie, my darling, we are going to have a fantastic time together!"

Trixie smiled as wide as she could make herself, working valiantly hard to ignore the tic that wanted to form above her right eye. She picked up her glass and bravely knocked it against Ginny's. A glassy clang rang out through the plush interior. Lying between her lips, she purred out, "I can't begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to it."


	25. Chapter 25

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Five

After putting his hands behind his head in a deceptively lazy pose, Dan leaned back and watched his friend through half-closed lids, seriously amused by the ever-moving sight before him. Jim hadn't done a thing all afternoon except pace from one end of the large living room to the other. Occasionally he'd take a short break and sit down on one of the many pieces of comfortable furniture in the room but then he'd immediately pop right back up, as if he didn't have the capacity to remain still for more than two seconds. He was also constantly checking his cell. A new text was being chirped around every twenty-three minutes or so it seemed to Dan when he attempted to average out the time in his mind. Each and every single text was from Trixie, letting Jim where she was, what she was doing and that she was okay. One lip curved upward while he took a long, leisurely sip from the bottle of beer he was currently nursing before he geared up to take a shot at his obviously frazzled friend. "Good God, Jim," he complained loudly, allowing his exasperation to show. "You have seriously got to find something better to do with yourself. I'm getting exhausted just watching you. What are you on now? Your tenth or eleventh mile?"

The voice drenched in playful sarcasm halted him in mid-stride. Groaning, Jim flopped down on the closest piece of furniture, the sectional, and dropped his head in his hands, an ironic carbon copy of the self-same position Trixie had often found herself in during their teenage years. He ran his hands through his hair, making the ends stick out, before letting out a loud sigh. In a low voice, he admitted to the carpet, "Dan, give me a break here. This day is taking forever to get over with."

"That's because you're not doing anything," Dan pointed out helpfully, lips threatening to twitch and dark eyes gleaming with barely concealed amusement. It wasn't often that Jim Frayne showed himself to unnerved. It would have been entertaining under any circumstances but because Trixie was the driving force behind it only sweetened the deal for Dan. The only way it could get any better was if he had someone to share it with. After settling back against the soft cushions of the recliner, he added, "Pacing isn't going to make it go by any faster, you know. It's only going to wear out a path in the carpet. The hotel management will probably make you buy a new one."

Jim growled through clenched lips and followed it up with a toss of a throw pillow. "Shut up," was his intellectual reply.

"Nice throw there, Ace." Dan easily swatted away the decorative pillow. It landed harmlessly on the thick carpeting. His hands went out, palms up. "No need to take out your frustrations on me. I'm simply calling 'em as I see 'em." Finally finding a way to enjoy the afternoon, a sly little grin lighting up his face, he silently pondered the best way to poke a little more fun at his friend's expense. For once, the possibilities were endless. It was merely a matter of choosing the best course. He angled his head to the side, ready to consider his next avenue. A little chime that was becoming all too familiar interrupted his thoughts. He imagined he'd hear it in his sleep; he was hearing it that often during the day.

Jim fumbled for the cell. Trying to forget that Dan was in the same room, he picked it up off the table. Swiftly, he called up the newest message. Eyes turning a piercing green, he skimmed it while his face immediately softened at the message it contained. A low sigh of relief blew past his lips. Once again, he was reassured that she was safe.

Dan watched it all, idly wondering the whole time if Jim realized how much his expression gave away. It was painfully obvious how much he still cared for Trixie. It was there in the softness in his eyes, the slight smile on his face, the sudden relaxation in his posture. Yep. There was no doubt about it. James Winthrop Frayne II was definitely toast. Again. Just as he'd been all those years ago. And, Dan thought with a single upraised eyebrow, he couldn't have picked a better girl. Now if only the two didn't manage to mangle it once again. He had hope that they wouldn't but…this was Jim and Trixie he was thinking about right now. Anything was possible between these two. When Jim didn't offer to share the contents of the newest message, merely continued to look down at it as if he was attempting to memorize the words or maybe make some kind of a telepathic connection through the cellular device to the blonde beauty, Dan swallowed a sigh and prepared to drag it out of him. "So," he began, as curious about Trixie's whereabouts as Jim had just been. "Where's Hollywood now?"

Jim didn't look up. He quickly typed in his usual response to Trixie, hit send, and put his cell back on the coffee table where it could be in full view for the next time it chimed. "She's finally finished with the spa. They're back in the limo and on their way to the salon right now."

"First a spa, then a salon." Dan tucked back a strand of hair that kept falling into his face. First thing he was doing when he was back in NYC was make an appointment to see his barber. The longer length of his hair was practically killing him. After finishing the last of his beer, the only one he was allowing himself for the day, he sauntered over to the bar and grabbed two bottles of water. "Poor Trix. She must be about ready to pull out her hair by now."

When Dan tossed him a bottle of water, Jim caught it and nodded his thanks. Then he saw the clock and frowned. "Hell, Dan, it's already four-thirty. She's been with Ginny Young for over three hours now," he noted with some surprise.

"And I'm surviving the most boring day ever, hanging out here watching you wait for each and every single one of Trix's texts." The room filled with deep chuckles when Jim started to flush. "You know, you could take me up on my offer and listen in on Trixie. I have the capability right here." He waved his own cell through the air. "Remember? It was updated last night so I could eavesdrop on your meeting at the penthouse."

Jim gave an immediate negative shake of his head. While the thought of eavesdropping in on Trixie's day was appealing, he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to invade her privacy…unless it was deemed necessary by the CDA. For security reasons. So far, it hadn't been. The whole day appeared to be on the up and up. Each text from Trixie confirmed it.

"Suit yourself." Dan slipped it into his back pocket. Leaning negligently against the bar, he glanced skyward and released a long, pent-up groan of full boredom. "There's got to be something more interesting to do here though. I'm not sure how much more I can take of this room. I mean, come on, Jim. This is Vegas! And all I've done this afternoon is watch you pine after Trixie. Real fun, let me tell you."

"Glad to hear you say that!" Max called out cheerfully from the threshold between their suites, brandishing a fresh pack of cards through the air. "I figured you two could use some livening up right about now."

Jim glared accusingly at the secret agent. In his mind, the man should be part of the back-up time following Trixie, not hanging out in their suite, watching over them. He'd rather Trixie have all the protection she could possibly need. Practically sneering at the man, he declared in an unfriendly tone, "I still find it hard to believe that you stayed behind."

Max lifted his shoulders, not taking offense. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd want someone watching over his Joss if situations were reversed. He'd want the best for his wife. He couldn't fault Jim for wanting the same for his girl. "There wasn't much I could do about it, Frayne. Belden made it perfectly clear before she left that I wasn't wanted or needed on this expedition of hers." Much to his chagrin but he chose not to share that little tidbit. "Since it was the only request she's made this whole mission that I could actually grant, I decided not to fight it. She wanted me to stay here."

"You mean she wanted you to guard us," Dan pointed out, more than a little stung. In his mind, they didn't need protection. Why should they need it? They weren't even allowed to leave the suite. They were stuck. In complete agreement with Jim, he narrowed his dark eyes at the man and muttered hotly under his breath, "Like we need a freakin' babysitter."

The two weren't thinking anything he hadn't already thought. "You'll have to take up your complaints with Belden when she gets back," he said, more than willing to push their complaints in the direction of the person who should hear them. "She's the one who insisted I stay behind."

"Why did she do that?" Jim looked around the quiet, peaceful room before adding sarcastically, "We're not exactly involved in a hotbed of activity right now, you know."

Having been in more heart-pounding, hair-raising situations that he could count, Max settled for another simple shrug. He didn't point out that in his line of work situations could change dramatically on the flip of a dime; most often when one least expected it to. And Belden would be seriously ticked off if something happened to either one of her friends. For that reason alone he wasn't taking any chances. He was staying put…and so were his two charges. Ignoring the various waves of annoyance coming his way, he held up the cards again and invited them, "Care to join me?"

"What do you have in mind?" Interested, Dan pushed himself off the bar and sauntered into the center of the room. He remembered the night before very well. His palms started to itch to feel the smoothness of the cards again. The clink of money would be even better. He'd played well but hadn't allowed the true depth of his abilities to show, in hopes that he'd be able to take on one or both CDA agents again. Today would be a different story.

"I'm up for anything." Max rocked back on his heels, eyeing the other gentlemen carefully, taking stock of their varying abilities. Frayne, he already knew, was most definitely not a player. Average was almost too high of a description for him. Mangan, on the other hand…He was a different sort altogether. Crafty. Intuitive. An excellent bluffer. Yeah, he'd love to have the chance to play against him again. He'd be a good challenge.

"I always enjoy a good round of poker." Considering, Dan rubbed his chin before hooking a thumb towards the only redheaded male in the room. "Unfortunately, one of us in this room just happens to not be a very good addition to the poker table. To put it plainly, he sucks and we all know it. Do you think maybe we should try Gin Rummy instead? Or how about a walloping good game of War or Go Fish or maybe even Memory? You know, something more suited to the playing level of a preschooler?"

Jim's toss was much harder this time. His aim was even better. The pillow hit Dan squarely in the stomach. The loud 'oomph' made him smile. Slightly. "I'll play your damn game," he grumbled lowly. "You can deal me in."

Making himself at home, Max strode behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. Alcohol wouldn't do, not when he was on the job. Surveillance. Protection. Baby-sitting. He wasn't exactly certain what the exact term was for his current job but he damn well wasn't going to be found lacking should something come up. Besides, he'd much rather have his wits about him for the upcoming game. "Here?"

"Here's okay but the dining room's even better. It's got a good solid table. Lots of room to spread out." Following Max's lead, Dan grabbed a bottle, snagged a few snack bags for good measure, and led the way out of the living room, a cheerful bounce to his step. "You sure you don't want to try a game that's more your speed?" he shot back over his shoulder to Jim, just to aggravate. "I hear Hearts is super challenging."

Jim answer was an ugly growl before he stalked over to retrieve his own bottle of water. Alone in the room, he sent one last look at the closed front door. He couldn't wait until Trixie came back through it. Until then, it seemed like he was destined to spend the rest of the afternoon sandwiched between the resident card sharks of the East and the West Coast. At least playing would serve as a distraction for him, if nothing else. He didn't have any higher aspirations. As much as it galled his pride, Dan's description about his card playing was unfortunately right on the money.

Once the others were seated around the large dining room table, Max didn't waste a moment before taking charge. Not wanting to give the DEA agent the chance, he expertly shuffled the cards, doing a few extra tricks to show off just for the hell of it, and then started doling them out. He wasn't going to take it easy on either of his opponents. Judging from the glint in the dark eyes across the table, he correctly inferred that neither was Mangan. Frayne was a different story altogether. The man may have been occupying a seat at the table but his heart obviously wasn't in the game. "All right, boys. Let's see what we've got here," he said through a grin and studied his cards through with a half-smile on his face, ready for some fun.

The game made the rest of the afternoon fly by. It was fast and furious, with Dan and Max alternating between the role of winner, and Jim always finishing last. But Dan finally succeeded in getting the better of Max. Frustrated when Dan successfully won for the fifth time in a row, Max tossed down his cards in disgust. Fun was not the adjective he'd use to describe the game now, nor was it the meaning behind the series of curse words that rolled effortlessly off his tongue. "Damn it, Mangan. You're with the wrong agency," he grouched as Dan pulled an impressive pile of winnings towards him. Winnings, Max noted, that Jim hadn't offered much up n. Frayne never anted up, never called a bluff, didn't seem to truly care about the outcome of any hand. Time and again he'd thrown away the good start of a flush or a set of pairs. In fact, he was generally out after the second set of cards was distributed.

"Well, well, well." Dan's smirk was sly and satisfied. Because he enjoyed poking fun at other's expense, especially when that other person was an equally accomplished card player, he took his time and began carefully stacking the folded bills and assorted change into nice neat piles. Going a step further, he rubbed his hands together and winked lavishly. "Gentlemen, would you both care to look at my loot? Pretty, isn't it?"

"You look like the freakin' bank of England," Max complained ill-naturedly through slitted eyes. It wasn't so much the fact that he was losing. Well, not completely. No, it was the principle of the thing. No one should be that dominant. It made him wonder if Mangan had pulled the wool over his eyes last night during their first round of play. When Dan chuckled again, he realized that his suspicions were one hundred percent correct. "It's your turn to deal," he said in a voice that sounded sulky to his own ears.

Jim, who was merely going through the motions and didn't so much as make an attempt to try to win any of the hands, jumped when his cell let out its latest series of musical chimes. A large freckled hand nearly knocked over an array of water bottles, empty and half-full, in his haste to answer it. Game forgotten, the same smile played over his lips while he quickly perused the latest text with an intensity that was nearly tangible.

In the middle of shuffling the cards for the next hand of play, Dan paused to stare in amazement at his friend. Transparent. He'd never expected to use that word to describe the man sitting next to him. Jim used to excel at keeping his feelings hidden. The cards fell back to the table, forgotten for the moment. "Good Lord, Jim," he complained loudly, unwilling to let the golden opportunity to tease his friend slip by. "Get it together here. You're not a teenager anymore. I thought you were well beyond the mooning stage."

Hating to be caught doing just that, despising the fact that Dan had to point it out, and loudly, too, Jim looked up sharply from his phone while a brilliant red flooded his face. Emerald green eyes slid towards the other man who completed their trio before he inquired casually, "You must have made some serious connections over the years, am I right?"

"Hmm. Yes, I have. What do you have in mind?" Interested, Max leaned back and eyed the other man curiously.

"I've got this problem." Jim carefully laid his cell back on the table and cocked his head towards Dan. "You see, I've got this extremely…irritating friend. You know the kind, right? Shows up when he's not invited, can't keep a secret, thinks he's really funny when he's just being downright annoying, plays one seriously mean game of poker. You know, that kind of a friend."

Max rubbed his chin. "Hmm. I think I've had some experience with the type of person you're describing here." He ignored the sputtering man who'd just thrown an entire pack of cards on the table in a show of scandalized outrage. "Tell me, Frayne. What are your thoughts?"

"I'm thinking…relocation. Yeah. Relocation has a nice ring to it right about now." Jim gamely swallowed back a chuckle when Dan emitted a sound that could only be termed a snarl. "In fact, I hear New York is great in the summertime. There's nothing quite like being in the City during a sweltering heat wave."

Startled by the suggestion from the generally quiet man, Max let out a loud laugh, inwardly amused. It seemed the old adage was right. Still waters really did run deep. No wonder Belden was crazy about him. He served as an excellent balance to her impulsivity. Max leaned across the table and said, totally deadpanned, "Hey, Frayne. Relocation is doable. It'll take a few phone calls but give me ten minutes. I've got the means to get him there."

"If you two idiots would just shut the hell up, we could start the next round." Dan aimed a killer glare at the other two, choosing to ignore the combined barks of laughter coming his way. It always sucked when one of his friends got the better of him. And it always surprised him when Jim was the one who managed to do it. It didn't happen often. "Although I'm beginning to think I should throw it," he grumbled lowly under his breath.

Once again, Max noted the large stack of winnings in front of Dan. It was double the amount of his. And Frayne….Max flinched when he saw how little the man had left. "We wouldn't want to influence your decision," he said playfully. "You do what you think is right."

Another round of laughter was cut short by a sharp knock on the door. Jim shot out of his seat and hurried from the room before the other two even had a chance to move. While he warily approached the door, Dan and Max chose to stay in the hallway, out of the line of sight but close enough to offer immediate help should it be needed. Taking a deep breath, curious about what he'd view on the other side; Jim looked through the peephole and frowned. The sight only increased his wariness. Narrowing his eyes, he slid open the door but did not invite the man inside. His tone wasn't exactly inviting as he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Young's butler stood in the hallway, a cool, disdainful look on his face. It took an effort but he forced his lips to curve upwards. It should have been pleasant but it wasn't. He didn't take offense at the rudeness of the man before him. His employer had already prepped him for it. He pointed to the garment bag draped over his arm and said stiffly, "I have a special delivery for you."

Jim ignored the long black bag. Going against the good manners his mother had instilled in him from the time he was old enough to understand, he made no move to invite the man into the suite. "I don't want it," he replied, curt and to the point.

"Be that as it may," the butler continued, having been told that a negative would most likely be the response from the younger man. "You are going to have to accept it. My employers simply won't take no for an answer. Mr. and Mrs. Young were very insistent on having me delivering this to you and on you accepting it. I cannot leave your presence until you do."

"Again, I don't want it," Jim repeated more forcefully. He started to close the door and suggested, "You can take it back to the penthouse with you."

A shiny black shoe stopped the door from closing in his face. "No, I simply cannot take it back to the penthouse with me," the butler disagreed, looking as cool and unruffled as ever. "It is my order to deliver this to you. As I've already informed you, I am not leaving here until you accept it, Mr. Hart. I am not allowed to. As unfortunate as it sounds, it is a requirement of my job." His tone spoke of how distasteful he found this particular chore.

Jim had never engaged in a stare down with a butler before. The stoic man stood before him, in his starch black and white uniform, a determined gleam to his eyes and narrow, thin lips turned down at the corners. However he felt about the Youngs, he had to admit that they picked a formidable man to stand sentinel over their front door. It took a good solid two minutes before he unbent enough to ask in a frustrated snarl, "What is in the bag?"

"I believe it is your attire for this evening." Sensing the younger man was finally weakening, he offered the bag over once again and tried not to gloat.

Jim swallowed a sigh. Although he hated to admit defeat, he accepted the bag. His face said it all. Lines of discontent settled on his forehead while he glanced up at the ceiling. There was no way he was going to verbally thank the man for it. In his mind, taking the damn bag was enough. He couldn't call up any desire to look inside it.

The butler didn't expect any gratitude. He nodded once and pressed a business card into Jim's free hand. "All the pertinent information you would require is here. Should you have any questions, you will need to contact my employer." With that, he pivoted on his shiny black shoes and strode away without another word, grateful to have his distasteful little errand taken care of. Now he could get back to the penthouse, where he'd much rather be. Coming into contact with the upstarts who sometimes frequented his front door was never a favorite chore of his.

"What a butler," Jim whispered under his breath as he closed the front door. "Harrison could teach him a thing or two on how to do his job." Then he forgot about the unfriendly man and turned over the card in his hand. It was for a restaurant, one he recognized as an extremely expensive one. _Florence._ A time was scrawled at the bottom of it. "Looks like we're having Italian tonight," he noted dryly, tapping the time. _8:30._

"What do you have there?" Dan called out from the hallway, having found the whole scenario interesting.

"Apparently it is my attire for the night," Jim repeated, trying not to cringe at the thought. After slipping the card into his back pocket, he focused on the garment bag in his hands. The glare he gave the black bag should have reduced it into a pile of smoky gray ashes. "Mr. Young's butler delivered it to me."

Having already completed a scan of the bag the second Jim had opened the door, Max announced, "There's no need to worry. It's completely safe and harmless."

"Your attire, huh?" Dan scratched a hand over his chin and considered all the possibilities. He gave Max a slight shove and said in a loud stage whisper, "I don't know about you but I want to see what's inside. I think my good friend here would look awesome in an Elvis costume. Black, I think, with lots and lots of rhinestones, in all the colors of the rainbow. With his red hair and green eyes he'd be certain to pull it off!"

Jim chose to ignore the low chortles of masculine laughter filling the room. Flushing, he zipped down the bag and starred in puzzlement at its contents. Inside was a normal black and white tuxedo, cut exceedingly well. While he did not normally follow fashion, he immediately recognized the label. He should. It matched the one hanging in his closet back at his apartment, the one his mother had insisted he needed to own for attending the various society affairs required by their company. It was the only reason he knew the designer. "A tux?" he wondered aloud, flabbergasted.

Max stopped laughing long enough to take a closer look. "Oh, yeah. It's definitely a tuxedo, Frayne. I think we can safely assume that tonight's dinner is going to be a black tie affair."

"Great. Just great." His voice carried as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Jim placed the bag back on the recliner, his frown deepening. Having dinner with the Youngs was bad enough. Having to dress up for it in an outfit they provided for him only made it worse. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. Trixie was the only bright light he had. She would be right by his side, through it all, and he would be right next to her. It was the only thing that made the thought of an entire evening with the Youngs possible.

"Better you than me," Dan sang out merrily, unable to get over the idea of Jim having to voluntarily wear a tuxedo. Dressing up in fancy duds was next to the bottom on his list of things to do. In his mind, it ran neck in neck with doing the mountain of laundry that never seemed to go away or washing the pan he'd used to broil steaks in and forgotten about until a week and a half later. "The last time I wore one of those penguin suits was for Brian and Honey's wedding. I have no desire to sport one of them again anytime soon." He emphasized his point with an exaggerated shudder.

Max slowly let his chuckles die down, surprised that he was having such an enjoyable time with Belden's friends. "Well, as much fun as discussing your wardrobe is, I think resuming our game would be much better. I seem to recall that it was Mangan's turn to deal." He started towards the door, sent one long searching glance back over his shoulder. "Anyone else coming?"

Without regret, Jim declined the offer with a negative shake of his head and a small wry chuckle. "It won't make much of a difference if I sit this round out or not. You two can start without me. Maybe I'll rejoin you later." He waited until the others left the room before studying the tuxedo once more and what it meant. If he was supposed to dress up, then that meant Trixie was, too. Eyebrows lifted while he pondered what she was going to be wearing. Probably something from the exclusive dress shop she was visiting with Ginny Young right at this moment. Wearing the tuxedo wasn't going to be so bad, not if he got to do it for Trixie. Unaware that a full smile had bloomed across his face, he detoured towards the bedroom for a quick shower, willing to miss a few hands of a game he was certain he was going to lose. He'd rather prepare himself for the evening ahead, no matter what surprises it may bring.


	26. Chapter 26

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Six

A long glance in the mirror showed exactly what she thought she'd find. A woman who'd devoted an entire day to primping and preparing for the evening, the exact antithesis of who she actually was. Gritting her teeth, Trixie examined her reflection. While it was generally her habit to skip over or only give herself a cursory glance, for once she missed nothing. Expertly applied make-up, the natural kind that she preferred instead of the bolder colors she'd worn throughout most of her current mission. Long blonde curls, recently trimmed, styled, and tamed to rest high on her head with hidden pins holding them in place. Nervously, she fingered a few tendrils that had been coaxed to curl down past her ears. In keeping with the natural quality of her cosmetics, her nails were painted a simple blush pink. Tasteful white pearls dangled from her ears, matching the thin strand encircling her neck; all gifts from her benefactress of the day. And her dress…

Trixie ran her hand down the side of it. Never would she have predicted that Ginny Young could have such a keen eye for fashion or that she would be able to pick out something that wasn't garish, showy or downright ugly. The dress she'd insisted Trixie wear was classic and simple, a column of pure ivory without an ounce of flash or flamboyance to it. Thin spaghetti straps held it up on her tanned shoulders before crisscrossing across her back. A billowy chiffon sash tied at one side to accentuate her trim waist before cascading down the side of the long skirt, to float freely with each and every movement she made. The skirt itself ended right above her ankles. One side was slit up to the knee, to showcase a little leg and allow her to move without too much of a constraint. She smoothed her hands over her thighs, unable to tear her gaze away from the sight in front of her. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought the day would end like this. Ginny Young, it seemed, was full of surprises.

When the door opened to admit a set of giggling patrons who'd obviously had more than their fair share of margaritas, daiquiris or whatever fancy alcoholic concoction was popular at the moment, Trixie hastily stepped away from the mirror and skirted away from the pack of women, a small frown on her face for having her solitude interrupted. She grabbed the matching white purse Ginny had insisted on purchasing to go with the dress from the settee and twirled around on thin heels. "Time to go," she muttered to herself, hoping Jim would have arrived by now and she wouldn't have to be entertained by the Youngs alone.

Purposefully keeping a slow pace, she walked down the hallway on a path that took her away from the bar and the crowded main dining room, which was almost filled to capacity. _Florence_, as she'd recently been informed by Ginny Young, was quickly becoming one of the most popular gathering places in Las Vegas. She wasn't certain if she should be relieved, wary or worried that Ginny insisted on reserving a private dining room for their small dinner party of four. She lifted a slim shoulder in resignation. Time would tell.

Another corner and the entrance to their private dining room was in view. She unconsciously squared her shoulders, held onto her purse with a death grip, and started towards the doorway, her mind recalling the events of the night before when she'd prepared to have dinner with one-half of their dining partners for this evening. While she found it highly doubtful that anything nefarious was close at hand, she didn't want to let her guard down. A harried waiter chose that moment to cut in front of her, his tray overflowing with delicious delicacies. Pausing, she gave the air an appreciative sniff and ordered her stomach not to rumble. Her lips, painted a gentle rose, curved upwards in appreciation.

A small sound, something close to resembling a sharp intake of air, caught her attention. Curious, she angled her head in the direction of the noise. Slowly, her eyes widened to twice their normal size while a true smile started to bloom and flourish. Completely forgetting their hosts for the evening, she changed directions, her legs quickly taking her to the place she truly wanted to be. Right by his side.

The emerald green eyes lit up with pleasure. He took the time to drink in the sight of the lovely lady coming his way. To see her now, after spending nearly eight agonizing hours apart, made everything in the restaurant pale in comparison. He didn't hear the muted conversations taking place around them. Didn't see the waitress who accidentally dropped a plate. Didn't hear it crash to the floor. Didn't hear the new song the instrumental band began. Nothing registered; nothing, that is, except for the gorgeous goddess of a woman he was meeting in the center of the thankfully empty hallway.

Giddy was something she couldn't ever remember experiencing while working on a mission. Yet giddy was exactly how she was feeling; was all she could feel. She supposed the smile on her face could be termed silly or foolish and rightfully so. It felt so wide but she couldn't force it off her lips or repress it. Not now, not when she was finally seeing Jim again. And he looked so damn handsome in his black and white tuxedo, a wondrous sight to her starved soul. When he opened his arms to her there wasn't any other option but to rush straight into them; right there, right in the center of the hallway, right where anyone could watch.

"Trixie." The one word was uttered in a low rumble of desire mixed with relief. He nuzzled the side of her face, planted a small kiss above her ear. "God but you can't have any idea on how I feel right now."

Blue eyes fluttered closed. Had she been able to see her reflection she would have been astonished at the calmness showing on her face. "I imagine I do," she whispered back, her smile growing larger. That giddy feeling felt like it exploded throughout her. If she didn't know any better, she would have had to classify it as pure joy. "I missed you today, too."

"Tell me about it." The words weren't needed; his voice gave away the truth of it, both raspy and rough. Despite the fact that they were well and truly in a public place, he couldn't resist. Public or private; it didn't seem to matter so much to him. Not right now, not when the need for her was overpowering all of his good sense. Without thinking, without planning, knowing only that she was in his arms, the place he'd been craving since the second he'd left her with Ginny Young, he turned her face up to his and took her lips.

Yes. There was no doubt about it. Definitely giddy, definitely happy, definitely…wonderful. Trixie forgot everything, from the back-up agents who were strategically placed somewhere in the vicinity to the fact that Max was most certainly listening in, and responded in the only way she knew how. With equal passion, equal verve. It was only when a bright light flashed practically in front of her face that she was reluctantly brought back to reality. Giggling a little to mask her embarrassment, she drew away and fell back onto her heels, her face matching the color of the pink polish on her nails.

"Whoa, baby! What a greeting!" the culprit of the flash declared. Ginny quickly pushed the button on the new digital camera and caught the two of them again, still in each other's arms but wearing identical expressions of guilt blended with pleasure on their faces. "I've got to say that watching the two of you together is better than any television show I can think of, network or otherwise."

Flush up against Jim's side, Trixie managed to get out a little laugh. Left with nothing else to say, she murmured a quiet, "Well…ah…thanks, I guess."

"Well put," Jim whispered teasingly. A hand rested lightly at the small of her back where he started to draw a series of small circles, hoping to ease some of the tension he could feel building within her. Because the kiss had put him in an awesome mood, he favored their guest with his lopsided grin. "It's great to see you again, Mrs. Young."

"Call me Ginny," she insisted gaily before motioning for the young couple to follow her. "Come along with me, darlings. My husband arrived a few minutes after you left to use the powder room, Trixie. He's waiting on us. As you know, we reserved a private dining room tonight. Your handsome fiancé does not, though. I wanted us to be…um…as private as possible." She sent them a little wink over her shoulder, pleased with her plans for the evening, and walked ahead, her head held high.

"Private room?" Jim whispered to Trixie, their steps once again in total sync as they purposefully stayed a few steps behind their hostess, who pretended not to notice.

Unbelievably relaxed, she aimed a charming smile his way, allowing the twin dimples to wink in her cheeks. As far as she was concerned, everything was going to be all right with the evening. He was with her again…and she didn't have that old nagging feeling lying in the pit of her stomach. Not tonight, anyway. "Ginny reserved the room for our dinner tonight. According to her, there's only the four of us dining together. She doesn't want us to be disturbed."

"Hence the need for a private dining room." Because she didn't seem nervous about it, Jim decided not to dwell on it either. He moved his hand from the center of her back, wrapped it around her waist. As they neared the entrance to the room, he offered quietly, "I haven't told you yet that you look absolutely stunning this evening."

Trixie came to a sudden stop a mere three feet from the door. Unable to look him directly in the eye, afraid that if she did they would never enter the room, she focused on the muted watercolor painting on the wall. But her answer carried a world of truth to it. While the recent memories of the soul-pounding kiss caused her heart to skip more than a few beats, she declared raspily, "Oh, you're wrong. You most certainly did."

Her response made his mouth grow dry. His hand tightened reflexively on her waist. Without thinking, without planning, he went on instinct and moved in, ready for a second try, only to have his next attempt thwarted by another person carrying the name of Young. A scowl crossed his face, one he couldn't disguise or smooth away. Only the soothing touch of Trixie's hand slipping into his reeled his famous temper in.

"Why, look at this. The gang's all here! Hart's finally made it!" Mr. Young announced cheerfully as if nothing untoward had occurred between them the evening before. A beaming smile on his face, he walked out into the hallway, his hands held out in welcome and not a doubt in his mind that the young couple would be happy to see him. In his experience, money could fix anything. And his wife had spent a small fortune on their female guest. That alone assured him all transgressions must be forgiven.

It took a few precious seconds but Trixie was able to get back into character. Because she could practically hear the growl threatening to crawl its way out of Jim's throat, she sent a hard elbow to Jim's mid-section, reminding him that they were supposed to be congenial to anyone bearing the name of Young. She pasted her own matching smile on her face and greeted him happily, "Mr. Young! What a pleasure to see you again."

"I'm delighted to hear you say that," he said, shaking his head as a feigned woebegone expression briefly danced across his face. "Especially you, Beatrix Johnson."

"Oh, I firmly believe in letting bygones be bygones," she said with an airy wave. A gleam in her eye, she reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. Only she knew the effort it took not to recoil at the simple touch. "Particularly after I've been treated to such a lovely day. It's been marvelous. For that, I really must thank you, Mr. Young," she finished, her face awash in sincerity.

He preened under the outpouring of gratitude from the young blonde before turning to face the fiancé. There was a horse of a different color. He wouldn't bet on him; not by a long shot. Studying him closely, Mr. Young inquired, "And what about you, Hart? Do you carry the same belief as your beautiful blonde here? Is all forgiven?"

Jim couldn't make his lips turn up; not with the apparent ease that Trixie had recently employed. But he couldn't let her down…and he wouldn't. She meant too much to him. He cleared his throat before admitting simply, "I want my Trixie to be happy. Right now, she's happy. So I'm happy."

Mr. Young pinned him with a piercing stare, letting the words and their delivery sink in. All wasn't forgiven, that much was clear, but the man was willing to move forward. He slowly nodded his approval. "You're a smart man." He let his eyes roam over the young woman, taking in everything about her appearance from the sheen of her hair to the tips of her designer shoes. All courtesy of the bank of Young, he thought with an inward sigh.

Listening in, Ginny glided up next to her husband. She grabbed onto his elbow and inserted herself into the conversation for the first time. "Trixie deserves to be happy. We pampered ourselves lavishly today. We look it, too." She gave a wink when her husband roared with appreciative laughter.

"That you do, Ginny." He traced a finger down the side of her cheekbone in a tender move that surprised both Jim and Trixie.

Blushing, Ginny threaded her hand with her husband's and started to pull him into the room. "Come inside, everyone. If my calculations are correct, it's nearly time for dinner."

Trixie intentionally stepped off to the side, allowing the Youngs to enter the room first. She followed along on much slower feet. With Jim at her side, she halted on the threshold of the private dining room. Her experienced eyes quickly catalogued the room and everything within it in a matter of seconds. Ten tables, all circular, all covered with pristine white tablecloths. The placemat settings were blue linen; as were the napkins. Gorgeous arrangements of pure white flowers stood tall in thin crystal vases. White roses mixed with white orchids. A blue ribbon encircled each vase before ending in a jaunty bow. The huge chandelier overhead provided a subdued lighting, wrapping the room with a romantic ambiance while a multitude of tall, thin candles topped with flickering flames added even more. No one else was in the room; not a waiter, waitress or some known or unknown underling on Mr. Young's payroll. There were only the four of them.

After her swift and extremely accurate perusal, Trixie slipped her hand into Jim's and joined the others at the circular table in the center of the room. Smiling her thanks, she sat down gracefully after Jim gallantly pulled her chair out of her. She laid her purse on the table, remembering at the last moment to take her cell out so that Max could listen in on the evening's festivities to his little heart's content. She was sure he would have more than a few uproarious comments about it later. "This room is even more breathtaking than the main dining room," she commented, her admiration plain for all to see.

"Yes, it is. It's a good thing we know the manager." Ginny poked her husband in the arm. "He wasn't very happy when we made the arrangements at the last minute but I absolutely insisted on having this particular room all to ourselves for the evening. It's just perfect for what I have in mind."

Mr. Young wasted no time in opening up a bottle of the finest champagne the restaurant served. Without asking he began filling the delicate flutes. Much to his chagrin, his favored wine wasn't on the menu tonight, at his wife's insistence. He knew it was her small way of getting back at him for what she considered his shabby treatment of his guests of the evening before. Thinking back to the amount his wife had spent during the day, he figured he'd already more than compensated for his faux pas. But he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to voice his feelings or thoughts to her. Nope, not at all. Champagne would do just fine. "Thirsty?"

Trixie accepted the flute and took a tiny sip. "Thank you," she demurred daintily.

"Did you enjoy your day out with my wife?" Mr. Young handed one over to the redhead, who didn't seem as thankful as his lovely fiancée. Those emerald green eyes were fierce in their intensity.

"Oh, it was wonderful!" Trixie gushed, a light little laugh trilling out. "And I can't thank you enough for it, Mr. Young. I loved every single second of it. I know I'll truly remember today for the rest of my life."

"You most certainly will!" Ginny cut in with a secretive little grin. Forgetting decorum, she downed the rest of her champagne and leaned across the table, excited about the last portion of the day, and patted Trixie's hand. "Eric and I have one last very special surprise for you."

Trixie sat up a little straighter. She still didn't have an ominous feeling and yet…and yet…she couldn't quite decide why this last _very special surprise_ made her suddenly apprehensive. Underneath the table, she reached out, grabbed Jim's hand and squeezed. Hard. Above the table, she looked the portrait of a relaxed, composed woman out to enjoy a fun-filled evening, one that she did not have to worry about financing. "A surprise? Another one? Really? You shouldn't have. You've already done so much."

"No, we haven't," Ginny objected. She pointed at her husband, turned the introduction over to him. "Listen to Eric. He'll tell us more."

"Well." Eric finished off the expensive liquid and put his flute down with a smart click. "After the two of you left the penthouse last night, my gorgeous wife pointed out to me that I could do more for my guests. You already know that my lovely Ginny here made it her project of the day to show you a wonderful time in Las Vegas. Am I right, Trixie?"

"Did she ever!" Trixie tossed a grateful look towards Ginny while her stomach started to churn. Again, not with nerves…at least, not the kind that came before weapons were exchanged. No, it was an odd sort of flutter. A different kind of trepidation. It made her grip Jim's hand even tighter. Keeping her conflicting emotions off her face, she added, "I had the best time with you, Ginny. I can't thank you enough for all that you did."

"No need for thanks, dear," Ginny insisted as she colored underneath Trixie's obvious gratitude. "Your pleasant company throughout the entire day was more than enough for me."

"It was one of Ginny's main goals to treat you like a princess today," Mr. Young continued, focusing entirely on Trixie since he still had the feeling that the redhead would like do something vicious to him with the knife at the side of his plate. He supposed he was lucky that it was only a butter knife and didn't have a sharp edge to it. "Her purpose wasn't merely to pamper you, though. She had another culminating thought in her sharp mind."

"I did, I did!" Ginny sang out blithely and stood up. "You'll all need to wait right here. I'll be back in a few minutes. It's time to bring out my surprise."

Trixie watched Ginny as she scurried from the room, a woman clearly on a mission. Inclining her head to the side, she wondered aloud, "What is her surprise?"

"You'll find out in a minute. She'll flay me alive if I tell you before she gets back." Mr. Young let out a small sigh. He really wanted to pull at the tie around his neck but he knew better. Ginny wouldn't be happy if he fooled around with his appearance. She'd gone to great pains in setting the evening up. Heaven help him if he ruined any parts of it. Since it was only the three of them, he brought up the events of the previous evening. "Before she comes back, I'd like to take a moment to tell you how genuinely sorry I am about my…mistake last night."

"You don't really mean that," Jim shot back before Trixie could stop him. His green eyes were narrowed and a small frown dipped his lips.

"I do and I don't, just not in the way you expect," he remarked cryptically and lifted both his shoulders. "As you both most certainly know by now, I'm a businessman at heart. In fact, I'm a great businessman. But, while my questioning tactics were of sound intent last night, I was obviously in the wrong. As such, we can safely say that I've been paying for my little mistake all day."

"Ah." Jim leaned back against his seat, his intellectual mind hard at work. "So that's why you're sorry. Your 'little mistake', as you termed it, has turned into an expensive one."

"Exactly! As you've already guessed, that's the only reason why I'm sorry." Mr. Young didn't offer anything else but another small shrug for his callous attitude. Business was business, as far as he was concerned. He didn't have any sorrow over the pain he'd willingly had inflicted on Trixie or the terror both of them had experienced, while he and Ritch had dined before them. "We'll finalize our deal tomorrow. Tonight, though…it's all about Ginny and her plans. So, make sure you enjoy them. It'll make her happy," he finished with a sharp smile and a meaningful look aimed at Jim.

Trixie knew Ginny had spent a small fortune on her throughout the day. She had to have. Between the spa, the upscale salon, the shopping trip, and now the private eating arrangements, the cost had to be astronomical. Hearing Mr. Young admit that he was sorry for the cost of his mistake, but not for the intent, only solidified her view of the man. No redeeming qualities whatsoever. She didn't allow her disgust to show on her face. Inclining her head gracefully, she said sweetly, "Believe me when I say I sincerely accept your apology."

Jim whipped his head around to stare at her, hardly daring to believe that he'd heard her correctly. "Seriously?"

"Jim, I'm wearing Valentino. _Valentino_!" She pointed an insistent finger at her dress, exaggerating her point. "Believe me; I more than accept his apology."

The air was filled with a bark of startled laughter, immediately lightening the atmosphere in the room. "A woman after my own heart," Mr. Young mumbled to himself. Leaning over the table, he picked up her hand and pressed a small kiss to the back of it. "You must know that the Valentino becomes you very well, Trixie."

She colored prettily; although all she really wanted to do was pull her hand out of his grasp and put her extensive training to use. If her calculations were correct, and they most generally were, she could have him gasping for mercy in five seconds flat. Instead, she replied nicely, "Thank you."

Her stride still carried the same purposeful step to it. Ginny bounced back into the room, this time with an older man wearing a gray suit in tow. "Hello again, darlings!" she called out, waving her hands wildly. There was a pleased expression on her face that set off a chorus of warning bells in Trixie's mind. "I'd like to introduce a friend of mine," she began without preamble, dragging the man along with her.

Trixie smiled politely while nerves hummed, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Jim and I would love to meet him," she remarked warmly, masking her wariness.

"This is Vincent Carmichael. He's a friend of ours," Ginny began and introduced him to the young couple seated at the table. "Not only does he perform something very special here in Vegas but he's also very special to Eric and me." She rested a hand on her husband's shoulder and squeezed, a soft expression on her face.

"Oh?" Trixie said curiously, trying to picture what the small man with graying hair could possibly do and how it could be special to the other couple. Plus he performed something in Las Vegas. Politely, she turned in her seat and inquired about the first thought to pop into her head, "Are you a magician, Mr. Carmichael?"

"No, no," he said, his chuckles mixing with Ginny's. "At least, not of the kind you imagine."

"He does have his hand in creating magic…hopefully of the lasting kind," Ginny added meaningfully. She slipped onto her chair and rested her head on her husband's shoulder. "At least, it worked for us, hasn't it, darling?"

"You'd better believe it." Mr. Young smiled down at his wife.

For reasons she could not say, the nerves turned almost fiercely into dread. Grateful she was already sitting down, Trixie dared to pose the next question, "What kind of magic do you do, Mr. Carmichael?"

"Marriage, Ms. Johnson. I am one of the many in this wondrous city who perform marriage ceremonies," Mr. Carmichael answered promptly. He gestured to the older couple. "In fact, I had the pleasure of performing their marriage ceremony, right here, right in Las Vegas."

And Trixie went still. Her smile nearly faltered. Somehow she kept it on her face. "Oh, my," she murmured as her hand slipped out of Jim's.

Ginny bolted up from her seat and started to jump up and down, hardly able to contain her excitement. "This is wonderful! I knew you'd both be excited!" She turned to her husband, unable to see the astonishment painted vibrantly across both of her guests' faces. "See? See, Eric? I told you this was a fantastic idea! They're both absolutely speechless!"

With knees that threatened to knock together, Trixie slowly stood up from her seat. She looked around the room, noting again the orchids and the blue and white. The conversation they'd shared during a treatment at the spa came back to her, when she'd shared the requirements for Beatrix Johnson's marriage to James Hart. She hadn't created anything fictional; had included everything real and touching and meaningful to her and their former relationship. She'd shared exactly what she'd want for their wedding. And Ginny had listened, apparently avidly so, and taken everything she had shared into account. My God, she thought, her heart picking up a frantic rhythm. Oh. My._ God._

Unlike Trixie, Jim couldn't find the ability to stand. He was sure he was going to have to scrape his mouth off the floor. Any time now. After cocking his head and fighting the urge to knock his hand against the side of his head, he asked the newest member of their group to please repeat himself, "Excuse me. What…what did you say?"

"Marriage ceremonies," Mr. Carmichael replied, a benign smile on his face. He laced his fingers together around his rather rotund belly and rocked back on his heels, serene in discussing his chosen career. "I conduct marriage ceremonies. I've been doing it for more years than I care to remember." He shared a wink with the young man and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I've been invited here to conduct one tonight. Betcha can't guess for who!" He finished with a loud slap to his knee and a cackling laugh.

"Oh, well, my. Umm…I see," Trixie breathed out, trying to think of the best way to handle the current situation before her. Nothing stood out at her. Not a damn thing. She who was always able to come up with a way out of any tough situation could not think of one single thing to say or do. Her words nearly stuttered over each other as she gave it a valiant effort, "This is truly unexpected. Truly. I…I mean we…"

"There's no need for thanks, Trixie." Ginny brushed it off, totally expecting Trixie to offer another long line of gratuitous words her way. She clasped her hands together, her face alight with the pleasure she was sure she was giving the couple, and totally blind to the truth. "None at all. Eric and I want to do this for you. It's what today was all about, getting you ready for your big night. Every single part of our day was designed to get you to your big moment."

"But…" Trixie didn't have a chance to stammer out another word.

Ginny shook a well-manicured finger in front of Trixie's face. "No, no. None of that now, you hear. I'm not going to take no for an answer. And I don't need any thanks, either. In fact, I don't need anything other than the look on your faces." She picked up her camera and snapped a quick picture of the duo. "I'm the photographer for your wedding too, don't you know. Once we're finished, you'll be able to take the camera back to your suite with you. You'll have lots of photos to remember this evening, I can promise you that!"

Trixie couldn't find the strength to look at Jim. She simply couldn't. "We've already started wedding plans," she mumbled lowly, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.

"I know. I know." A delighted little laugh chirped out. Ginny was like a steamroller once she got going. There was no stopping her. It was useless to try, as Trixie was beginning to find out. "I used a few of the ideas you shared with me earlier today. After we talked, I slipped away from you to call the manager here and arranged the room for us. Now I know it's not as grand as your ideas for your real wedding but you can simply do it again. Later, for all your family and friends. Tonight's special; more intimate. It's a gift, from us to you." She swept her hand through the air with a regal flourish.

"But…" Trixie was left once again with the only word she could utter. For once, she had absolutely nothing.

Jim finally intervened. He stood up. Sensing that Trixie was about to offer up a protest, which was very clearly not what their hosts expected them to do, he grabbed onto her elbow and tugged her closer to him, hoping he might be able to calm her with his presence. Judging from the taut line taking up residence between her shoulders, he didn't think the effort was met with a lot of success. Turning, he addressed Ginny, "It's very thoughtful of you."

She put one hand on a hip, moved the opposite one through the air. A becoming flush stole across her cheeks. "I…no, we," she corrected herself hastily, including her husband in the decision. "We wanted to make your stay here in Vegas memorable. What can be more memorable than a wedding?"

"Not much," Mr. Carmichael answered cheerfully, putting in his two cents. "Each and every newly married couple has left my chapel completely ecstatic about their new matrimonial state. I have never had a disappointed couple yet." He didn't share his suspicions that more than a few of those couples did not experience that same euphoric feeling once they woke up after their wedding night. The morning after could certainly be a concern. However, that wasn't something he needed to be bothered about. He simply presided over their vows. The rest was up to the couples.

"You can always have a second wedding later, exactly as you planned!" Ginny repeated enthusiastically, beyond ecstatic with the whole idea and ready to get it off and running. "Tonight can merely be a practice run for you, as it were."

"It would make my wife very happy, too." Mr. Young put in, knowing Ginny would be extremely unhappy if the wedding didn't take place. He wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks to come. "Please. You must accept our offer."

Jim couldn't see anything past the mass of tamed curls on the top of her bent head. From his vantage point he didn't have a clue to what she was thinking or how she was taking the surprising turn of events. With Mr. Young looking at them expectantly and Ginny Young ready to burst with exhilaration, he did the only thing he possibly could right now. Sucking in a deep breath, sending up an inward prayer that he could make it through the ceremony without saying their true names, he accepted their offer as calmly as possible. "We'd love to."

Having expected nothing less than a full-on acceptance, Mr. Young clapped his hands together once and nodded his head. "Then it's all settled. Mr. Carmichael brought everything that covers the legal end of the matter. He'll lead you through the necessary paperwork. Once you finish, Hart, you can meet me over there." Knowing better than to touch Jim, he gestured towards the corner of the room where a large floral arrangement of white roses and orchids had been set up.

Mr. Carmichael placed a file folder on the table. "My good friend Mr. Young has very kindly brought over the necessary paperwork for the both of you. He also took care of the pesky rule that requires participants to be present at the Marriage License Bureau when they apply for their marriage." That was generally a rule one normally couldn't overcome. Mr. Carmichael figured that an extremely substantial payment in addition to the normal fee was the only way someone in the office would be willing to consider another alternative. Chuckling under his breath, he opened the file folder. Copies of their drivers' licenses, their birth certificates and even their Social Security cards stared back at them. "Thanks to Mr. Young and his excellent team of employees, we have all the formal identification that I need to complete the application. All you two need to do is to fill in the blanks and sign." Smiling, he unclicked his pen, held it out expectantly.

Her mind was a total blank. Trixie looked unseeingly down at the application. She should have been recalling her character's relevant personal information, all of which she damn well knew by heart, but she couldn't recall anything. Not a single thing. She wasn't capable of speech right now, let alone the simple art of thinking. Even breathing was nearly beyond her limited skills of the moment. She didn't even notice the pen hovering a few inches from her lax hand.

Jim reacted before anyone noticed her obvious reluctance in accepting the pen. He reached over her and took it. Keeping a close eye on Trixie, who was turning as white as her dress, he leaned down and began filling in the pertinent information. Using his excellent memory, he was able to write down all the information he'd memorized when Max had first given him Jim Hart's life history. It only took a few minutes before he was done. Taking a deep breath, wondering what she was going to do, he offered the paper and pen over. "Trixie," he said firmly. "I'm finished. It's your turn."

The sound of his voice was exactly what she needed. It pulled her out of her current funk. Their fingers touched briefly. Her eyes immediately shot to his while her mouth bowed in astonishment. There was such a jolt at the point of contact. She couldn't read anything in his eyes; all she could see was the familiar emerald green. But that in itself was comforting and provided her with the means to continue. "Thank you," she managed to say past her suddenly dry lips and dropped her gaze.

Quickly, she glanced over his information. James Walter Hart. _James Walter Hart._ And that's when it hit her. Of course. _Of course_. He wouldn't use his true name. He couldn't. He wasn't being his true self. At least, not at the moment. She wasn't being her real self, either. Seeing the presence of Jim's alter ego helped settle the flock of butterflies rioting in her stomach. She unclicked the pen, let out a very deliberate slow breath of air, and, with the nearly illegible scrawl she was known for, began to scribble down Beatrix Johnson's information.

When she was finished, Mr. Carmichael took the application. He slipped on his reading glasses and perused it carefully, humming lightly under his breath the entire time. "Yes. Well, it seems that everything appears to be in order." He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and announced, "How about that. We're about to have a wedding!"

With careful precision, Trixie put down the pen. Her smile felt brittle and most likely matched the tone of her voice. "I can hardly believe it. A wedding." Showcasing the depth of her strength, she turned to Jim and added quietly, "Our wedding."

With giggles galore, Ginny showed up at her side and pulled her away from the table before Jim could respond. "Now, Trixie, you'll need to come over here with me. The gentlemen…." She stopped long enough to shoo Jim and Mr. Carmichael away. "They will be waiting over there in the corner of the room with my husband."

She watched Jim's broad back as he walked alongside the justice of the peace, who barely came up to his shoulders. The first wave of shock was long gone; had disappeared the second she'd seen his fake name written in his neat handwriting across the first line of the page. Its presence had served as a reminder, had helped her put the whole farce into some sort of perspective. It was part of her job, unusual as it may be, and he was willing to help her through it. So what if she was about to live out one of her hidden fantasies, one she'd carried around in her heart since the summer she was thirteen years old? That was her problem to deal with and couldn't be called up now, when they were deep within enemy territory. Feeling her cheeks start to flame, she put her hands to them and slowly turned away, needing a few seconds to gather her thoughts and hopefully attain some sense of tranquility.

"No need to get nervous, Trixie," Ginny hastened to assure her, incorrectly guessing the reason behind the flood of color on the bride's face. She picked up the camera and clicked another quick picture. "Cold feet are not on the menu tonight. Everything's been taken care. There's nothing you need to do except to make your vows to that handsome man of yours and become his wife. What could be simpler, right?"

"Yeah. Simple," Trixie repeated, hoping her smile hid her sarcasm. She'd much rather face down an army of angry insurgents by herself than fulfill the requirements of the ceremony. Now that the butterflies were gone, she could truly focus on the pain by her heart. It was sharp and stabbing, showing her that merely acting out her dearest dream wasn't anywhere close to what the actuality would be. Bravely, she took in a deep breath and painted what she hoped was a blissful smile on her lips. Only someone who knew her would have seen how it didn't come close to touching her eyes. "You're right. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

"Glad to hear it. You had me nervous there. Here." Ginny grabbed her left hand and slipped off the monstrous engagement ring. "You'll want to put this beauty on your opposite hand. This way your wedding ring will be the first ring slipped onto this finger."

Oh, Good Lord. Wedding ring. "Good idea," Trixie replied, fighting back the hysterical urge to giggle. Sweat started to form on the palms of her hand. She risked one glance at her cell, had a second to predict what Max's response to what was going on. She imagined she could hear his laughter all the way in the room. He'd never let her live it down. And if Dan knew…oh, boy. She couldn't finish the thought.

Ginny continued blithely on, completely ignorant of the fact that the bride didn't have the ability to focus on a single solitary word she was saying. "Now that we've covered the rings, let's move on to music. I'm in charge of it. I kept it traditional, too. I always prefer simple and traditional at a time like this. Do you see the CD player over there?" She pointed to the object residing on a table top across the room. "I'm going over there right now to cue up the intro. Once you hear it, all you need to do is walk down the aisle to your Jim. He's there, waiting for you." She plunked a set of orchids and roses out of a nearby vase and shook off the excess water. "Here. This is the last thing we need. It's your bouquet."

Feeling like she was trapped in the oddest of dreams, where reality didn't exist and everything was surreal in the extreme, Trixie took the flowers without protest. Fingers nervously pulled at the blue ribbon holding the large bouquet together. In just a few minutes, she was going to walk down the…aisle, she guessed, although it was really just a dark blue carpet. Even more incredulous, she was going to find Jim waiting there.

Her mind a total whirlwind of frenetic activity, she missed out on the words of wisdom Ginny was happily sending her way. She did feel it when Ginny leaned down and pressed a pre-congratulatory kiss on her cheek. Also, she blinked when the camera once again flashed brightly in her face, blinding her for the moment. Bouquet in her hand, she rapidly blinked away the brightness and stood by herself as Ginny made her way towards the CD player. When the strains of the Wedding March filled the room, Trixie hesitated only for a moment before starting the short walk towards Jim. She thought she smiled but she couldn't tell for sure. Her heart was pounding much too frantically for her to be certain of anything right now. Even though the wedding was more of a mockery, even though it wasn't truly real or legally real or whatever the hell the correct term for it was, she couldn't help but believe that it felt real.

Acting on instinct, Jim reached for her hand the second she approached them. It was cold and clammy to the touch. He folded his long fingers over hers, hoping to infuse some of his strength into her, and turned with her to face their minister, who began the timeless ceremony with the words everyone knew. Not a single one of them registered on either of them. All he was aware of was Trixie. _Trixie._ The woman dressed in flawless ivory. Her soft blonde curls. Her sweet blue eyes. Her adorable dimples. Her hand in his. She was the woman he always pictured by his side at such a momentous occasion in his life, even during the bleak years apart when he didn't have an ounce of hope that the dream would ever, could ever, come true. And now it was…sort of.

Mr. Carmichael could have been speaking a foreign language for all Jim knew. When the time came for him to repeat the ageless words, he had to forcibly concentrate and offer up the false name he was currently using despite the fact that his brain was screaming at him to use his real name instead, damn it, and do just do it, now. He quelled the small voice, murmured his fake name. Her response was a whisper, as soft and quiet as the flutter of a hummingbird's wing. At least her face was turned up to his. He had the pleasure of seeing an unending sea of sapphire blue, looking as wide and deep and unfathomable as he'd ever known them to. He couldn't read anything in them, but, judging from the paleness of her normally bright cheeks and the limpness of the hand residing in his, he imagined she must be in the throes of some seriously deep emotions right now. He could relate. He was experiencing the same right about now.

"And now for my favorite part of the ceremony. Mr. Hart, you may kiss your bride," Mr. Carmichael intoned amiably. With a grin that spanned from ear to ear, he closed his book and prepared to watch the first kiss of the newly married couple, a couple he'd brought together, for better or worse. Somehow, he'd lay money down that this couple belonged in the better category.

With his hands resting lightly on her waist, Jim pulled her towards him. Leaning down, he gently settled his lips on hers. It wasn't an extremely passionate first kiss; it couldn't be, not with three sets of eyes watching them closely, especially when those eyes belonged to people neither of them particularly cared about. But it was powerful. And it was tinged with a ton of sensual promise. He felt its response shimmer all the way down to the tips of his toes. Did she feel the same? He couldn't tell, not with her eyelids currently shading the brilliant blue of her eyes from him.

_Oh, woe!_ Need like she had never experienced radiated through her. God, he was potent, an intoxicating drug to her system that she never wanted to be rid of. When she was reasonably certain the desire she felt for him wasn't splashed across her face for all to see, Trixie allowed her eyes to flitter open. The sounds of Ginny Young cheering, Mr. Young whistling, and the minister clapping his hands were distant rumbles in her ears. She couldn't get past the thudding of her heart. It was actually painful…and was extremely loud. She chanced a quick look up into Jim's face, a face she knew as well as her own; maybe even better. She tried to search it, to find out what he was feeling, but couldn't. All she could see was the same sort of astonishment she was sure was mirrored on her own. Amazingly enough, they'd just exchanged vows, even if they'd both willingly used the wrong names in the process. Did it matter? She was certain that legally it did; but emotionally? She lifted a shaking hand, ready to press it to her thudding heart, when she saw the glint of gold on her finger. The gold he'd slipped there, when he'd vowed to love, honor and cherish her. Forever. Just like that, she had her answer. Obediently she turned when Mr. Carmichael asked them to, her soul in a state of raw awe.

"I now have the great pleasure of announcing Mr. and Mrs. James Walter Hart!" Mr. Carmichael exclaimed merrily, pleased as always with his work. In his mind, the fact that Mr. Young had more than tripled his normal fee only made the evening better.

Wiping away a single tear since weddings always made her feel sentimental; Ginny picked up the camera again and started clicking away. She murmured dreamily, "Don't you just love weddings, Eric? There's something so magical about them. Our couple looks wonderful together. A perfect fit."

"They certainly do, my dear." Mr. Young put one arm around his wife. He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sentimental ceremonies were not high up on his list of things to do. Although the evening wasn't a total loss. He'd learned one hard and fast rule from the debacle caused by last night's Q & A period. He'd be much better about keeping the nature of his work away from his wife now on. It was too expensive for him when she found out about a…ah…misdeed of his.

Trixie couldn't take her attention off her circle of gold. It was a plain ring, with nothing to adorn it. Simple. Unbreakable. Unending. The object, while tiny and light, meant so much, was filled with so much promise. It looked so damn right on her finger. Feeling raw and exposed, she didn't dare risk another glance at Jim. She wasn't brave enough. Not yet. Ducking her head, she stood besides him while the Youngs crowded around, offering them congratulatory messages, unable to comprehend that she'd just participated in a marriage ceremony. With Jim. Together. If her intuition was correct, and it rarely failed her, then the next item following the ceremony was the required wedding reception. A bubble of hysterical laughter started to form deep within her chest, threatened to come out.

"Trix, keep it together," Jim mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, obviously more in tune to her tumultuous emotions than she'd given him credit for.

"Okay," was her unstable answer while she gamely swallowed back a choked laugh.

"Trixie," he repeated lowly, an insistent hand on her elbow. One word and one word only, spoken calmly but with force. It was enough to break through the panic that threatened to claim her, enough to offer her the lifeline she was in dire need of.

With his beloved voice ringing in her ears, she closed her eyes again. The brief lack of visual contact with anything in the room was enough to help bring back her focus. When she opened them, she had herself under control. Quietly, she whispered, "All right. I'm fine now, Jim."

A few tables away, Mr. Carmichael swept up the file folder in his hands and tucked it under his arm, ready to move on with his evening. "The only problem with performing the ceremony here instead of at my chapel is that I can't complete your wedding certificate right now. I need to do it from my office. Would you prefer to have it tonight, Mr. Hart? Mrs. Hart? I could have someone bring it to your hotel if you'd like." His mind was already whirling with the rest of the ceremonies on his docket. A quick glance at his watch informed him that he had twenty minutes to return to his chapel before he needed to preside over his next wedding.

Jim immediately spoke up for them. "Tomorrow's fine. There's no hurry on the certificate, Mr. Carmichael. We can wait."

"I'm certain these two will find some way of occupying their time tonight besides waiting around for a crummy piece of paper. It's their wedding night, don't you know!" Ginny joked with an uproarious laugh. Grasping her husband's arm, she added in a playful stage whisper, "I've only known them for a day, Eric, but I can't believe the amount of chemistry they have between them!"

Mr. Young made a small sound in response. Then he held out his hand, gave Mr. Carmichael a firm handshake, and offered him his thanks, "Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. You've made our evening one to remember." With a flourish, he slid an envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it over to the justice of the peace, who took it and practically skipped his way out of the room.

Ginny shook a finger at the newly married couple, a pleased look to her face and absolutely no clue how rugged and choppy the waters were underneath the apparently placid surface. "Now, I know you two newlyweds want some privacy but we must have some sustenance first. Dinner will be served shortly. Then we'll follow it up with dessert. You can't have a wedding without a reception. It's your night, you know. We have to celebrate."

Years of successful training came to her aid. She smiled as wide as she could, hoped her eyes retained some of their normal sparkle, and infused as much enthusiasm into her voice as was humanly possible while she lied, "I'm ready to celebrate." In reality, celebrating was the farthest thing from her mind. An old adage kept circulating through her mind, mocking her with its very presence. It was extremely accurate, apparently killingly so. She was caught in a web as tangled as it could get.


	27. Chapter 27

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

From her spot in the corner of the backseat, Trixie watched Las Vegas go by, her forehead pressed up against the glass and her heart thumping in time with the whir of the wheels. Trepidation. It held a stranglehold over her. She held herself as far away from Jim as she could politely make it without it seeming like she was trying to put distance between them, which was, ironically enough, exactly what she wanted to do. She hadn't uttered a word to him other than a small muted 'thank you' after he'd done the gentlemanly thing and opened the door for her, ten agonizing minutes earlier. She attempted to focus all her attention on the passing scenery but wasn't very successful. All she was aware of, could be aware of, was the handsome man sharing the same seat with her. The man who'd just participated in a wedding ceremony with her. The man who wore an identical ring to the one that encircled her left ring finger. She blew out a breath, slow and steady, and tried to find something to be grateful for. There had to be something. The only thing she could settle on was the fact that they were alone. Not a single Young was in sight. Their hosts had chosen to stay behind at the restaurant to visit with the owner and his wife, leaving the _newly married_ couple on their own. As Ginny had put it before their departure with a large, lavish wink, it was time for them to start their wedding night. Trixie squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed an inward groan of apprehension.

From the other side of the backseat, Jim eyed his prey and waited with the sainted patience of an eagle. He understood her need for solitude. Even more importantly, he understood that now was not the time to push into it. He'd have to wait until they were alone...really alone. He gave a shrug of a shoulder and turned to look out his window. Conversation was overrated, anyhow. This was a case where actions were going to speak much louder than words possibly could. It wouldn't be too much longer before they reached their hotel. Then it was just a short elevator ride to their suite. With narrowed eyes, he silently vowed not to be so understanding once they were alone in their suite, or so quiet. He turned around the new article of jewelry he wore on his finger, over and over again, a small smile lightly playing across his lips. Hell, he was looking forward to it.

After five more minutes of tense silence, the taxi driver pulled up to their hotel. Moving with a quickness that was generally attributed to her, Jim tossed a few bills into the front seat, opened his door and was out on the sidewalk, waiting for her, practically before the taxi driver had a chance to bark out his fare. He waited for her to join him, emerald eyes dark with impatience. In direct contrast, Trixie moved much slower. Warily, she put one foot on the blacktop, then the other before slowly unfolding herself from the backseat, making sure to take her time. She was in no hurry to get upstairs. One long intake of air was supposed to be fortifying but it didn't do anything more than to provide her with the required amount of oxygen her body needed. A slight frown creased her forehead. She crossed over to Jim, hesitant and unsure of herself, as the events of the evening started to fall upon her with the unwieldy weight of a thousand bricks. Pressing her hands against her thighs, she didn't notice Jim pull out his cell phone or send a quick text but she did hear his softly whispered order.

"For God's sake, Trixie! Smile!" he hissed out after getting his first good look at her face. She was pale and looked more like she'd recently attended a funeral, not a wedding. He pasted one on himself. After grabbing her elbow, he started leading her into the hotel. "You of all people have got to know we're most likely being watched by someone in Mr. Young's entourage. It's important that we at least act like a happily newly married couple, whether we're really one or not."

Her fingers tightened around her purse, holding the item in a death grip. She tried not to grimace. He was right. Professionally, it rubbed her raw that he was the one who realized the need to continue their charade. Personally…it was a different matter altogether. "All right," she agreed quietly. It took quite an effort, nearly a Herculean one, but she managed to pull it off. Her answering smile rivaled the multitude of sparkling lights brightening up the water fountain. Only someone who truly knew her would have recognized that it was full of artifice.

He eyed her intently. He saw the truth. But it would suit. After nodding his approval, Jim kept a strong grip on her elbow. He realized that she needed something to help keep her grounded, a job he was more than willing to take on. Carefully, he steered her into the hotel. It amazed him how easily she let him lead, proving to him more than words could say that she was in a very unusual state. Shock, astonishment, disbelief. Any and all could describe her right now…and him, if he was being completely truthful. Once they were safely inside, he made an immediate beeline for the elevators. While he appeared calm and in control on the outside, inside he was a mass of conflicting and overpowering emotions, exactly like her. Blindly he reached out, pushed the up button, and waited expectantly for the elevator to land on their floor. Each minute felt like an eon. And the whole time he kept his hand firmly on her.

Through veiled lashes, Trixie looked downward. She saw long fingers wrapped around her bare elbow. Long, strong fingers. Those fingers kept her body close to his, so close that only a thin amount of air separated them. A toe began to tap nervously while her fingers began to drum against the side of her thigh. She hated to admit it. It galled her to but this was the very first time on a mission where she felt completely and totally out of control. There wasn't a bad guy in sight or the possibility of some unwanted hostile activity ahead. Oh, no. There was only the promise of extreme solitude between the two of them looming ahead, where he more than deserved a few answers for the unexpected escapade of the night. And she…she'd have to apologize and explain and also keep the depths of her emotions hidden from him. Bravely, she kept the smile from fleeing her face. The conversation looming ahead scared the hell out of her.

While waiting, Jim watched her. He noticed every single thing. She was fidgety; couldn't stay still. Her face didn't have an ounce of color to it. Plus, her eyes weren't as brilliant as normal. While a smile graced her face, it was tiny, forced, and completely devoid of her usual warmth. Barely resisting the urge to scuff the floor with his shoe, he had an exceptionally strong idea why she was acting so out of sorts. The answer gleamed off her left ring finger.

Being careful not to look fully at Jim or the trio of laughing couples exiting the elevator, she entered and immediately pivoted around on her thin heels. She stared straight ahead; didn't acknowledge Jim's presence, and waited for the doors to close. For once, she didn't complete the scan of the elevator. Nope. She wasn't planning on saying or doing anything. She was more focused on enjoying her last few moments before they would return to their suite.

Jim had to step in front of her to push the button for their floor. Testing her, he intentionally brushed against her side. It gave him a dark thrill of delight when she jumped at the unexpected contact. For the first time since the unexpected ceremony, his smile truly warmed his eyes. Impatiently he watched the little red digital numbers count upwards. While she didn't want the privacy the suite promised them, he couldn't wait for it. He wanted it.

She fought the urge to touch where he'd brushed up against her. She could still feel the tingles that remained behind. Trying to ignore them, and him, proved to be a nearly impossible feat. Trixie stared at the closed elevator doors, her hands now bunching up the expensive material of her dress, and watched with an overwhelming feeling of dread as the numbers cheerfully changed, bringing them closer and closer to their floor. To their suite. In a few short minutes, whether she wanted it to happen or not, they were going to have their first dose of real privacy. They were going to be in their hotel suite, away from prying eyes, vigilant observers, and any possible recording devices. There were only a few people, namely Max or Dan, who would be available to cut into the privacy. Although it was cowardly of her, for once she sincerely hoped they did. They'd serve as quite a nice buffer, one she most anxiously needed.

When the elevator let out its cheerful ding to let them know they'd reached their destination, Jim was once again the first one off. "Almost there," he remarked needlessly, just to say something to break the silence. Without waiting for her response, he re-cupped her elbow and led her down the hallway.

She nodded dumbly. Somewhere along the way she remembered to pull her cell out so she could be ready to scan the room although she seriously doubted if anything untoward had happened in their room; not with Dan and Max standing guard during their absence. Better safe than sorry, she thought with a bubble of hysteria beginning to build up again.

When they reached their door, Jim paused. In a moment they were going to be inside. Alone. His fingers flexed against the soft skin of Trixie's elbow before he reluctantly let her go. After pulling out the key card, he swiftly swiped it with an experienced flick of his wrist, and pushed open the door. He intentionally didn't flick on the overhead lights. She slipped past him, quiet as a whisper, wary as a cat, and immediately moved to the other end of the living room. Grinning to himself, he palmed a little sign and hung it on the outside of the doorknob for anyone in the hallway to see. He closed the door. The sound wasn't loud; was only a small, normal, every-day sort of a click. But it carried with it an unusual sense of finality, one that he recognized. They were finally alone.

Trixie spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the room. Exactly as she'd expected, they were safe. Ignoring the fact that they were unarguably alone, she strolled through the living room and flicked on a brass lamp. A muted light cut through the shadows. "Well," she began, her words practically tripping over themselves in their hurry to find their way out of her mouth, "I'm glad to say that the suite is once again safe and secure. Max and Dan took care of it well. No problems to report. Not that I expected anything less, of course. You know our room hasn't been searched since the very first time we left it. That's a good thing. Mr. Young never deemed it necessary to have another search conducted here."

Jim watched the words tumble out, finding it unbelievably comforting to realize that she was downright tense. It was endearing, in an odd sort of a way. Plus he comprehended the reasons for it. It wasn't often that someone's pretend fiancé ended up becoming someone's pretend husband. He leaned up against the wall and offered an inarticulate sound of encouragement, just to see what she would do or say next, all the while plotting what he'd like to do…and soon. Very, very soon.

Trixie paused to take a much-needed breath. Not wanting to give Jim a chance to start questioning, complaining, or maligning the hands of fate that had brought them to such an unusual crossroads, hoping that if she kept up a steady stream of conversation he'd simply forget to bring up their new status, she continued, her voice gaining in both speed and volume, "After today, I believe Mr. Young trusts us once again. Or maybe trust isn't the most accurate word to use. I don't know. Anyway, if Mart were here, he'd be able to help me out and give me the best word possible. You know my brother. He's still our resident walking dictionary. He hasn't met a word yet that he doesn't like!" She ended on a strangled sort of a giggle, wondering how on earth she'd managed to bring up Mart's name into the disastrous debacle that was her Las Vegas mission.

"That's Mart Belden for you." Jim watched her closely, an amused glint to his eyes, and wondered how much rope she was going to need before she hung herself. Figuratively speaking, of course.

"Gleeps! It certainly is." Trixie offered up a high-pitched laugh. It sounded unnatural to her own ears and made her flinch. In serious need of a distraction, hoping to do anything that would make him forget that they were…or, more accurately, that their characters were married, she stared at the closed connecting door and wondered where the hell the other men who always interrupted them were. Max? Dan? Hell, she'd welcome Shane right now, anything to not have to face the man she'd kinda…sorta…well, not legally but just actually…wed. Oh God. Her head was starting to hurt from the strain of it all. She put a hand to her right temple in hopes of soothing away the ache. A single name burst out, so much so that she almost yelled it. "Dan. Where is he? I'm surprised he's not here, waiting for us."

And he wouldn't be, not if he valued his life. The memory of the text message he'd sent to their good friend fresh in his mind, Jim offered a casual shrug in lieu of an answer, unwilling to offer up what he'd done. Somehow, he didn't think she'd appreciate hearing that he'd promised either immediate death or permanent dismemberment to anyone who dared to encroach upon their territory or that it was Dan's duty to pass the message along to any of the other inhabitants right next door to them. Definitely not a good idea to share that particular gem with her…at least, not yet. He was one hundred percent certain that no one was going to be bothering them tonight…and one hundred percent certain that she wouldn't appreciate his efforts. Right now.

Spinning around, Trixie walked over to the other side of the room. She began playing with a loose tendril of hair, nervously twisting it around and around her finger. "Do you think Dan left the suite?" she asked in an overly bright tone of voice. It was a truly stupid thing to say, only proved how restless and nervous she was.

"No." Again, Jim didn't offer anything else, merely watched the woman who was displaying the most interesting case of apprehension he'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing. It was fascinating, from the light blush highlighting her cheeks to the blue eyes that focused on everywhere else but at him to the fingers that couldn't be still. Yeah, she was most definitely agitated. It made the ends of his lips curl up, in a purely male sort of a way. He crossed his arms over his chest, made himself comfortable against the wall, and prepared to watch what she'd do next. The ball was firmly in her court. Would she bobble it?

No? All he could say was no? Nothing else? She was left fumbling for something else to say. The silence settled around them but it was nowhere near as comfortable as an old, soft, worn blanket. Oh, no. Trixie's heart seemed to be picking up in rhythm, beating so fast she was surprised he couldn't hear it. She drew in a soft series of breaths to hopefully settle herself. But it didn't work. "Ah, well, you're right, "she stammered out, trying to search for a response that didn't make her sound like a total idiot. "Dan wouldn't leave. He knows he's not allowed to. I guess he's probably with Max, then."

Hell, she was adorable when she was rattled. Jim didn't move from his spot, merely crossed one ankle over the other, and made a low hum, one she could take as agreement or not. He looked at the closed connecting door, secure in the knowledge that no one was going to be bothering them tonight.

Trixie actually felt the blush heat up. Angling her head so he couldn't see her face, she tapped a finger against her thigh and inquired, thinking maybe if she talked shop it would help even matters out or make her feel less like the village idiot, "Did you hear that Mr. Young is going to finalize our deal tomorrow?"

Jim lifted an eyebrow. Deciding he liked not responding; or, more accurately, he liked how nervous she became around him when he chose not to respond, he merely uttered another unintelligible sound. Just to see how she would react. He wasn't disappointed.

This time Trixie actually wrung her hands and growled. As far as she was concerned, enough was enough. "Damn it, Jim!" exploded out of her. "There's supposed to be a give and take in a conversation, no matter how asinine it is. You realize you could actually partake in it, don't you?"

"Maybe I'm not _partaking_ yet because you haven't brought up the right topic." He watched her, more intently than she realized.

And she flamed. A bright, vivid, vibrant red. Her eyes dropped to the carpet. There was no way she was going to look at him…not right now, not right after... "I know what you're talking about," she mumbled lowly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I've been trying to avoid it."

"You've been doing an excellent job. Possibly the best tap-dancing routine I've ever heard." Jim pushed himself away from the wall and began walking towards her. Stalking may have been a more apt term. His steps carried a definitive purpose to them, one she didn't realize yet, while the green of his eyes slowly darkened with purpose.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really, really, really sorry." She couldn't lift her gaze from the floor. Unconsciously she started to memorize the intricate pattern in the expensive carpeting. Anything to not look up at him. Anything to not see the questions on his face or the disappointment or the…regret she expected to find there. Her lips pulled back in an ugly grimace.

Deciding neutral was the only way to go, he offered soothingly, surprising her, "Let it go, Trix. It's not your fault."

"No. Only my job's." Unbelievably weary, she let out a long sigh and dropped her cell and her purse on a nearby table. The contents spilled out. She didn't notice. She started to run her hand over her hair but stopped when she realized her hair was pulled up. Since that avenue was closed, she ended up fingering a lampshade. Without glancing in his direction, she muttered, "It's not real though, you know. We've got at least that much going for us right now. Neither of us has to worry about any legal ramifications from the after-effects of tonight. We are not the ones who got married tonight. It was Beatrix Johnson and James Hart, not us. That's how it'll go down, legally."

_It certainly had felt real. _Ignoring the tiny taunting voice, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and answered calmly, "I know. I understand the law. I'm a lawyer, remember?"

"Yeah." This time she kicked the leg of the table. It wasn't hard enough to hurt. It definitely wasn't hard enough to make her feel better. "You're being awfully understanding about all this, Jim. I expected you to be mad or something. I know it wasn't exactly what you'd volunteered to do when you were recruited to help me out." Trixie blew out a frustrated breath. Finally daring to crack open an eye, she was met with the sight of his polished black shoes about three feet from her. Since it seemed safer all around to talk to his shoes instead of his face, she added, "None of this was. It's been an insane couple of days here. Nothing has happened the way it was supposed to be. Nothing. You've been…I mean, what I'm trying to say…Gleeps! You've been truly amazing through it all. For that, I'm so grateful."

"Don't worry about it." He angled his head to the side in a vain attempt to get a good look at her face.

His calm response surprised her further. Trixie bravely lifted her chin; ended up staring at his knees this time. "This mission has been a mess since the very beginning," she admitted softly. "I owe you so much, you know, for everything you've done. We never would have gotten this far without you. Thank you," she ended on a hoarse whisper.

Since it was obvious she wasn't going to look at him without the aid of some serious prodding, he reached out and tipped her chin up. In a show of her stubborn spirit, she didn't meet his eyes. Her refusal to look directly at him only made him appreciate her even more. Stubbornness. It was quite a defining character trait of hers. He brushed his free hand over the top of her head before saying huskily, "No thanks are needed, Trix. It's been my pleasure. Believe me."

The air seemed to stop around them. For the first time since Ginny Young had revealed her grand plan for the evening, she looked up and truly gazed into his face. Her beautiful eyes, the ones that had haunted him from the very first moment he'd looked into them in a ramshackle old mansion, slowly grew and intensified with the most glorious amount of wonder in them. "Jim," she breathed out. Her heart was once again pounding but it wasn't because she was worried about his reaction to their 'marriage'. No; her heart starting racing for an entirely different reason.

Jim slipped out of his black jacket and let it carelessly fall in an untidy heap to the floor. Next was the thin scrap of fabric that had been his tie. One quick tug and it was no more. Without breaking eye contact, he took one large step towards her. It effectively closed any remaining distance between them.

She found herself backed up against the wall. While there were many misunderstandings, mistakes and just plain misconceptions residing between them from their painful past, there was no way she could mistake what he was telling her now. No words were needed. Nothing was needed but the expression on his face. Her brain quickly went into shut-down mood. An impossible achievement, since he hadn't even touched her yet. And she very badly wanted him to. So very badly. She had enough sense left to mumble, "Jim…wait…what…about…"

"No need to worry," he cut her off, a large freckled hand settling at her trim waist. He took a second to appreciate the sight of his hand against the ivory of her dress before he hauled her against him. Tightly. Damn, they were a great fit. The best. How the hell had he ever allowed himself to forget it? He bent down, inch by inch. "Remember that text I sent when we were outside?"

"No," she replied truthfully. She had absolutely no recollection of it. And she didn't care, not when she was having trouble keeping her mind on the conversation. He wasn't helping matters either. He'd started running his other hand lightly up and down her side, eliciting tantalizing tingle after tantalizing tingle. She couldn't prevent a small moan of need from escaping her lips and unconsciously tipped her head back.

A grin that could only be termed cocky wreathed his face. Leaning down, he nuzzled her exposed neck before whispering throatily, "I'll fill you in. I'll give you the abbreviated version. I sent it to our fellow wandering Bob-White. I made it perfectly clear that we were not to be disturbed tonight. By anyone," he added meaningfully.

"Oh!" She stretched the word out, making it much longer than the simple sound should have been. Slowly, the depth of his meaning sank in. He'd made sure they weren't to be disturbed. He'd taken the time to make sure they weren't disturbed. He'd done it…while they were outside. Which meant…Astonished, she shared, her voice twinged with the most amazing sound of awe, "I understand."

"Do you?" he questioned quietly, pressing a line of soft kisses against her collar bone.

She nodded. "I was so worried you were going to be mad or shocked or disappointed or downright furious or…" She shot him a look from underneath her lashes when he lifted his head. Nervously, she giggled, "You get the picture, right?"

"I can take care of all those points. Right now. Let me start by assuring you that I am not mad." He changed directions, brushed his lips against the side of her mouth. Gliding across, he gave another kiss on the opposite side, making her toes curl. "Or shocked." Then he trailed kisses down to the sensitive hollow of her neck. "Or disappointed." When he came back up, he breathed hotly in her ear, "Or downright furious."

A low moan was his reward. With her breath coming in ragged shallows, she answered hoarsely, "I'm so glad." Her heels gave her an added height she couldn't help but be grateful for. Standing on tiptoes, hardly daring to believe what was happening between them was really happening; she pushed her lithe body up against his.

"Tell me about it," he whispered and drew back to take a moment to appreciate the lovely lady in his arms. Seriously, he shared, "We've got the whole night to ourselves, Trix. No one's going to bother us. You've got my promise."

"What…what do you have in mind?" she inquired, striving for a playful tone while her heart was hammering out the liveliest of tunes.

He started gently tugging. It didn't take too long before the mass of golden curls were once again framing her face and the pins holding it up were no more. Pleased with his work, he suggested, straight-faced, "Poker, maybe?"

"I hear you're pretty good at it," she joked back with a charming laugh. Tentatively, she laid her hand on his chest and was surprised to note that his heart was beating just as fast as hers.

"You're wrong. I suck at it," he admitted without a qualm while he threaded his fingers through her curls. As he slanted her head back, he started to bend down and murmured, "There's something else I'd much rather be doing."

"Gleeps. Me, too." Her answer was breathy, soft and slow. All she could see was his beloved face as he loomed in closer. And when his lips claimed hers, gently, tenderly; all rational thought fled, to be replaced with a desire that was almost insane in its overwhelming power. All she could think was more. Now. All she could ever want was him. Now. It was as clear as the moonlight winding its way through the curtains. He was for her. And she was for him. Right in the here; right in the now. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him as tight as she possibly could, while she pressed up against his, silently demanding more.

Reveling in her passionate response, hardly daring to believe that they were finally at such a turning point in their relationship, he held on and met her, kiss for kiss, touch for touch, moan for moan. His mouth slashed across hers, increasing in force, while desire flowed through his veins. Only when it got too much, too fast, did he stop to take a break, his chest heaving and his breath rough and ragged.

"Jim." His name was like a beloved poem, tripping lightly off her lips. Sighing, she nuzzled against his chest. Her hands bunched the expensive fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it. She didn't care. She nearly tore it off. With her breath finally evening out, she shared hesitantly, "I'm almost afraid to believe that this is real."

A finger traced the place where her skin met dress across her back. He danced along the edge until he felt the zipper. He started to play with it, and nearly, very nearly, gave in to the urge to pull it down. Sensing they weren't quite ready for that, he reluctantly dropped his hand. "It _is_ real," he answered huskily. "Believe it, Trixie Belden. The only thing I'm wondering about right now is why the hell we ever waited so damn long."

Startled, she drew back and took in the serious expression on his face. Even though she wasn't comfortable with flirtatious, she gave it a valiant attempt and succeeded beyond her wildest imaginings. "Well, since we've wasted so much time," she began, her eyelashes fanning her cheeks becomingly as she slanted a coy glance his way. "It only seems right that we really make the effort to make up for it."

His answer was a long, slow, exceedingly delighted grin. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard in a very long time."

The next kiss was as equally potent as the first. Possibly more so, now that they both were clear as crystal in their thoughts. She wrapped her arms around him, reveled in the feeling of having the right to touch him again. She met each kiss with the same verve, the same ferocity, the same passion, her body melting against his where she found it hard to discover where she stopped and he began. Hands raced over each other, encountering hard muscle, silky skin, and soft hair. She didn't know how long they engaged in the kiss. It didn't matter. As long as she was with him, she was fast learning that nothing mattered.

Finally, he gave in. With much less finesse than he would have liked to exhibit, he reached around, fumbled with the zipper, and started pulling it down, his movements more jerky than smooth. A flush appeared on his face, one that had nothing to do with the exertion of their passionate encounter.

The sound couldn't be mistaken. Her eyes popped wide open. She found herself looking deeply into a set of deep green, turbulent with a need she felt all the way through her. His hand went still, flattened against her back. Seeing him uncertain made her want him even more. Without talking, keeping him trapped within her sapphire gaze, she brought her hand up around to where he'd stopped pulling at the zipper. Looking him square in the eye, letting every single ounce of desire pour through and shine out, showing him plainly how much she wanted him, she suggested, her voice raw and low, "Let me finish."

Three words. Three tiny words. And he had his answer. Final and absolute. Unable to take his eyes off her, his breathing already raspy and hoarse, he watched with bated breath as she slipped the zipper the rest of the way down. The ivory slid away, to reveal the dazzling goddess before him. His next breath of air caught in his throat. His mind completely stopped working. There, in front of him, was the embodiment of every dream he'd ever kept buried, of every secret wish he'd wanted to have but never believed he could have fulfilled, of every single thing he'd ever hoped to aspire, even through the broken years they spent apart from each other. To put it simply, she was everything.

Inside, she was trembling…and not entirely with desire. Never one totally confident in her appearance, she unknowingly started to chew on her bottom lip while Jim took his time to peruse her. Sweat pooled in the palms she held against her thighs. A frown creased her forehead. She thought she knew what he was seeing. However, she was very wrong.

Desire was clambering to be unleashed, a primitive, primal beat. He ignored it and took the time to study her, starting with the mass of curls tumbling down to gently caress her shoulders. Her beautiful face, with her wide eyes, pert nose, and giving mouth. God, she was gorgeous. Hell, she was his. Hungrily, his gaze moved downwards, to her chest. A strapless white bra was the last bit of fabric barring him from completely seeing her. A tempting amount of skin was displayed above the material, calling out to him to touch. He valiantly ignored it, moved down to view her toned stomach. He zeroed in on her scar before taking note of the matching white panties. High-cut, they were, and exposed a great deal of long, lean, and impossibly bronzed leg. Sheer hose added a shimmery quality and ended at the top of her thigh. His fingers itched to feel the contrasting texture of skin and silk.

The wall felt solid behind her back. She pressed back against it, needing its support to stand, while the quiet continued around them. Nerves brewed furiously, a fiery cauldron. Squaring her shoulders, she called up enough courage to prod him on. "Jim?" she intoned questioningly, a finger twisting a long, spiraling curl.

His eyes traveled back up to hers. If she'd had any questions about his intentions, they rapidly dissipated. The hunger couldn't be ignored, misconstrued or, as her pounding heart informed her, denied. "Hell, Trix. You've got to forgive me. You are just so damn beautiful," he got out roughly past a knot of need lodged deep within his throat.

"No, I'm…" Stunned, her eyebrows shot up. Memories of another time, another place, when they'd held a very similar conversation in a very similar context flashed vividly before her. Her mouth formed a small O of astonishment. Even after all this time; after all the pain, after all their problems, he still found her beautiful. "Jim," she breathed reverently, awed by the power brought on by the memory. She held a hand gently over her heart.

He hadn't made the connection; hadn't recalled yet an innocent walk on a prom night that had ultimately escalated into something much more memorable and meaningful in a moonlight clearing at Ten Acres, seven long and broken years in their past. "Beautiful," he murmured again. _And mine._ The thought formed, wasn't spoken, was held tightly to him. At least for now. Without waiting for her reaction, he dove in for another taste. This time, the passion that flared so effortlessly between them couldn't be tamed or contained. His hands dug into her hips, pulling her flush against him where she wouldn't be able to have any doubt of his desire for her, while his tongue dueled wildly with hers. All the while he hoped she realized that he was branding her as his.

The power. The incredible passion. The sweetness of it all. It was hard to deny. And yet it was nothing compared to the tenderness of the memory of that long-ago night. Although they had managed to steal a few other moments before things had gone so totally wrong between them, nothing in her mind had equaled the majestic magic of their first time together. Trixie kept her eyes closed. The wonder of it all came back at her. A shudder shook her, one for all they'd managed to lose. A lone tear came next. It slipped out, started to trickle its way down her cheek.

Jim couldn't help but feel the change in emotion within her. He drew back, concerned. Surprise quickly turned to worry. "Trixie?" he spoke earnestly, using his fingers to wipe away the trial of moisture. "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no." Unruly blonde curls bounced with the negative shake of her head. "No, not at all. You'd never…no, it's not that. I was just…"

When her voice trailed off, he traced the edge of her cheekbone, hoping to soothe, wanting to comfort. Needing to touch. "You just what?" he asked lowly.

"Remembering." The word was spoken quietly and yet reverberated around the silent room with the force of a thousand canons.

Jim's competent hands stopped. The next breath he drew in was clearly audible. Slowly, he expelled it out. Raw, he replied, "I understand."

Tear-filled eyes looked helplessly up into his. She saw he did, well and truly, and pushed herself further against his chest, knowing she'd be able to draw some much-needed strength from him. Needing it, she carefully rested her head on him. The sound of his heart beating underneath helped calm her more than anything else. Her answer was muffled against his chest. "I knew you would."

His hand dove into the tumbling mass of golden curls. He held her head against him, his arms providing her the sanctuary she so desperately needed right now. She, in turn, and without realizing it, returned the same courtesy to him. A small grin curved his lips after she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as tightly to him as he was to her. After a few minutes of merely enjoying holding each other, he decided to find out what came next. Almost anxiously, he posed the next question, praying she would give him the answer he wanted right now, "Umm, Trix? What do we do now?"

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest. Looking through eyes the color of soaked sapphires, she replied quietly, "It's simple, Jim. We have to try and make some memories. Better memories."

Jim's eyebrows shot straight up. The answer sank in. She was giving him the green light to proceed. Thanking the fates for the second chance, he let out a relieved sigh. "I like the way you think, Belden," he remarked with a wickedness that contradicted the strain of honorableness that ran through him. Grinning, he splayed a possessive hand in the adorable nether region just below her hips and brought her forward. "I really like the way you think."

A happy little giggle filled the air. As she'd declared earlier, she was ready for some new memories. The slate was clean. Her voice was husky. "It's our night, Jim."

"It is," Jim agreed. He ran the back of his hand up and down the side of her thigh and appreciated the fact that she dropped her head back so that he could look directly into her face. Gazing down at the alluring woman in his arms, he declared, his voice raspy with desire, "We have to make the most of it, Trix. We need to own it."

"Yes." Loving the sentiment, Trixie went up on her tiptoes, ready to go on the offensive. She met the mouth crashing down for hers. Without a qualm, she willingly let go of their past and the pain it had caused them. It was past time to blaze a new trail for them. She didn't know what they'd find at the end of it. She couldn't predict the outcome. But one thing she knew for sure. She was damn well going to enjoy every last bit of the journey, no matter where it took them. Starting right now. _********_

Neither of them wanted to waste a precious second of the night; not now, not when they'd finally broken through the last of the barriers standing between them. The road that had stretched out behind them, in all its broken, dilapidated starkness, was well on its way to being mended, and gloriously so, with each touch, each whisper, and every soft kiss.

_**A/N:**_

I marked the place with an _********_ where I deleted out a chunk of this chapter. I didn't want to have to give the story an M rating! I have both versions of this chapter posted on my website. If you would care to read the unabridged version and you are 18 years or older, please PM me and I'll be glad to share the full version with you! Thank you very much!


	28. Chapter 28

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Euphoria. It seemed to come straight from within his very soul and radiated all the way throughout him. Jim stretched out a long arm, brought it back to rest around the source of his happiness, and hugged her to his side. In sleep, she responded with a small breathless sort of a hum and burrowed into him. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head, relished the feel of the silky soft curls, and breathed in the sweet smell of her. A lazy grin tinged with an undue amount of male satisfaction flittered across his lips. He reached for a curl and gently ran a finger down the length of it, all the while reflecting back on the wonders of their night together. Easily, it was the best one he'd ever spent. It hadn't ended with the rising of the sun, either. Small cat naps here and there, intermingled with whispered conversations and shared laughs, had served as an extremely welcome and effective source of rejuvenation for more pleasurable pursuits.

Curious about the time, he flicked a glance towards the alarm clock. The bright blue numbers glared back the unyielding truth. 1:38. In the afternoon. Stunned, Jim rubbed his eyes to be sure he wasn't reading the clock wrong. Yep. Despite the fact that he'd clearly thought otherwise, they were well into the afternoon portion of the day. He flopped back against the rumpled pillows, shot one more look at the beauty slumbering away besides him. She didn't stir. Breath still came in and out, in a gentle, even rhythm, proving that she wasn't ready to awaken yet. Not that he could blame her. They'd put in an extremely active night.

A loud chirp rang out, startling him out of an enjoyable reverie. Not having any desire to check out the source of the incoming text, Jim turned his back on it. Watching Trixie was infinitely more interesting. Touching her was even better. He tenderly traced her cheekbone with the back of his fingertips. When the chirp sounded again a mere thirty seconds later, he lifted his head and aimed a fierce scowl in the direction of the offending noise. With a deep sigh of regret, he reluctantly gave in to the inevitable. Someone obviously wanted to get into contact with him. He had a pretty good idea who it was, too.

Pushing back the covers with a groan, he stumbled his way towards the source of the sound, grumbling the entire way because he'd had to give up his warm spot next to her, completely unconcerned with the state of his lack of apparel. He kicked away one of his black shoes, grinned with dark delight at the white panties lying on top of his other one, and finally found his cell phone, hidden underneath his hastily discarded pants from the night before and her strapless bra. After tossing his wallet to a nearby table, he glanced down at his cell. Sure enough, there were two shiny, brand new texts. Mentally prepared for a good amount of cellular ribbing, he called up the first one.

_2:30. No longer._ Dan was nothing if not concise, Jim thought with a low sigh. It could have been much worse, especially considering the terse text he'd sent off the previous night. He checked the next one. Even shorter and sweeter. Three words only. _I mean it_. Jim typed back a non-family-friendly response to their fellow Bob-White and hit send without a moment's hesitation. He ran a hand through his hair as his earlier euphoria started to evaporate. As much as he despised it, as much as he wished that he could prevent the impossible from happening, they were definitely coming up on the end of their private time together. Damn. It sucked. He approached the bed and gave himself one more chance to look upon his girl. She was definitely out, didn't appear to want to wake anytime soon. The covers were rumpled around her, pleasingly so, hiding a few of her more than desirable assets from his fiercely wandering eyes. A little smile played across his lips. Catching her hand, he gave it a small squeeze before he half-heartedly turned away and hurried into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later found him showered, dressed, and ready to face the rest of the day. With red hair still damp, he strolled back out, pulling his polo shirt on along the way. An inner debate waged only for a minute before he sat down on the edge of the bed. Although he didn't want to wake her up, he gently cupped her shoulder and gave her a tiny shake. He didn't have a choice. She needed to know about their time limit. "Trixie," he whispered; quietly, firmly. When he didn't get a response, he tried again, only louder this time. "Trixie."

A low, raspy murmur was his only answer. Ignoring his body's immediate response to the sweetly sexy sound, he cleared his throat and tried yet again. Leaning over, he put a hand on her waist and another on the bed and spoke her name with more insistence, "Trix. Come on. It's time to wake up."

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. It took three times before they were fully opened. An incredibly gentle expression on her face, one full of feminine secrets and sensuous remnants of their night, she automatically covered his hand with hers and smiled brilliantly when he laced his fingers through hers. "G'morning, Jim," she greeted him, her voice as low and raspy as her earlier murmur had been.

God, he was a goner. Absolutely and totally. Even her softly-uttered morning greeting was arousing to him. He briefly contemplated how much time they had…seriously so, until his cell chirped brightly for a third time, an obvious reminder from Dan that he meant business and that the clock was ticking down their precious remaining minutes. Hiding his frustration, he leaned down and pressed what was supposed to be a quick kiss but ended up turning into a long, lingering one on her lips. Pulling back slightly, he murmured against her cheek, his warm breath teasing her skin, "Good afternoon, Trixie."

Her smile dropped comically off her face. "Afternoon?" she squeaked out and sat up, looking wildly around for the clock. The covers worked against her. Remembering at the very last moment that she was totally unclothed underneath, she made a mad grab to keep them in place, much to his unconcealed amusement, and eyed him with a wary expression on her face.

"It's after two," he informed her, watching with male pleasure as she struggled to tame the covers. She wasn't as successful as she'd liked to have been, which only pleased him more. A light that could only be termed predatory shone deeply from his eyes while he committed the sight to memory.

"You've got to be joking," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing the rumpled assortment of blankets around her chest. She cracked one blurry blue eye open. "It can't be the afternoon already." There was the tiniest hesitation before she asked, "Can it?"

"I'm not joking, Trix." He dropped his hand from her waist and placed it on her thigh. Looking her squarely in the face, he added, "It seems that somehow we…ah…managed to lose track of the time last night. And this morning," he added with his famous lopsided grin, telling her plainly that he didn't mind losing track of the time at all.

Amazingly enough, she didn't flush. She didn't drop her gaze from his, either. A night full of extremely invigorating extra-curricular activities made her much more secure, both in her body and in her relationship with him. Feeling astonishingly happy, wonderfully serene, she squeezed his hand and remarked dryly, "I can't imagine why."

Jim let out a startled bark of laughter, surprised and very pleased with her response. He hadn't known what to expect from her. Finding her comfortable around him was a boon he hadn't counted on. "Me, either," he responded, using his other hand to cup her cheek.

She turned into the touch, unconsciously letting out a little sigh that nearly broke the impossibly thin rein he held over his remaining control. Nearly purring, she stated quietly, "It was a good night, wasn't it?"

"Not good. Great," he corrected and waggled his eyebrows. "With the added benefit of an extremely invigorating morning, too. Don't you think?"

She did color prettily then. Remembering a few of the more…adventurous things they had done, especially after they'd become very, very, very familiar with each other again, she took her time before agreeing, "The best."

He couldn't help it. He had to do it. He moved in for a kiss and drew it out as long as he could stand it before reluctantly drawing back. With his breath coming in ragged pants, he finally informed her, "We've been given a deadline, Trix. We have until 2:30." Regret laced his tone.

Her shoulders drooped. Dropping her gaze, she played with the edge of the covers. "I see." One quick glance, one even quicker calculation that would have impressed the hell out of her high school math teachers, proved that they didn't have much time left at all. Twenty minutes. If it wasn't for the fact that they'd have two dragons bearing down on them at any possibly moment, she'd seriously consider...but, no. It wasn't to be. Not yet, anyway. "You're already dressed," she noted with some surprise, finally moving beyond his face. He was looking exceptionally handsome in his forest green shirt and worn blue jeans. Her fingers itched to touch him.

"And showered and everything." Loving the silky feel of her skin underneath his hand, he trailed along, starting at her shoulder and ending with her hand. "I'll head them off at the pass, if you'd like. It'll give you a little more time to get ready." He gave one last squeeze and slowly rose from the bed, ruthlessly squashing the thoughts of what he'd like to be doing right now.

Through wide eyes Trixie watched him stand up. It was stupid to feel bereft of his presence, especially since she knew he had to leave and she had to get ready, but she felt that way nonetheless. It was just there, proving to her beyond anything that her feelings for the man ran extremely deep. All the way through her soul, if she didn't miss her guess. With a voice raspy again but for an extremely different reason, she said, "I'll be out as soon as I can."

The same feelings were assaulting him, for the exact same reason. He halted. He couldn't leave. At least, not yet. He whirled around, made it back to the bed, and pulled her up, right into his arms, and chuckled when the covers finally eluded her grasp. "Take all the time you need," he muttered before hungry lips claimed hers.

"Gleeps!" she exclaimed after he let her go. "Now that's a wonderful way to start the day." She impatiently pushed back a handful of hair, blissfully unaware that she was completely uncovered from the waist up, and gifted him with a peaceful smile.

"And we're down to about seventeen minutes," Jim muttered, unable to look anywhere but at the blonde beauty staring back at him through dazed and delighted eyes.

Moving forward, she rested her head on his chest and let out a tiny purr of contentment. "One more minute ought to do it."

"It won't," he declared into her halo of golden curls. He brushed them back, unsure if he was soothing himself or her with the movement. Most likely a combination of both. "But it's all we've got right now."

She rubbed her cheek against the cotton of his shirt before dropping back against the pillows where it suddenly occurred to her that it would much easier for her to get out of bed if he wasn't in the room. After all, he was dressed and she was not and the daylight was nothing if not harsh. "I guess I'll…um…shower and all and meet you out there…um…soon."

He watched the blasted pink pigment start to trail over her face. It took only a second to clue into the fact that she was embarrassed. It took a longer one for him to figure out why. His eyebrows shot up. "What are you waiting for?" he asked with a sham expression of boyish innocence on his face.

Her mouth bowed open before a loud giggle erupted from her throat. "As if you didn't know," she laughed, hitting him on the shoulder. She felt extremely comfortable with him but, the act of walking from the bed to the bathroom, completely nude, was, well, rather disconcerting for her. Then she glanced down. A loud gasp emitted past shocked lips when she saw how much of her was already on display at the moment. Hurriedly, she grabbed the covers and pulled them back up, her face much redder than it had been a few moments earlier.

Deciding he didn't want to tease her, he pushed himself back off the bed without making any of the increasingly suggestive comments that sprang to mind. "I'll be waiting," he said gruffly before leaving her. One last glance firmly etched the picture of her in his mind. He left the room, feeling as if he'd left part of his heart behind him, and fervently wishing they had just had a little more time together. Automatically, he dropped his cell phone on the table in the living room that was littered with all of Trixie's items from her purse, whistling an extremely cheerful but nameless sort of a tune, and made his way into the kitchen where he started brewing a fresh pot of coffee. They were going to need it. Although he felt strangely energized after the most remarkable night of his life, he understood that caffeine could help give him the extra kick he needed to make it through the rest of the day.

A steaming mug in hand, Jim wandered back into the living room, the same merry tune on his lips and visions of Trixie dancing before his eyes. When he heard a phone ring, he reached for it without thinking and caught it up quickly, expecting it to be an amused Dan on the other end informing him of their dwindling time. With an eye towards the hallway and inventive imaginings of what Trixie was currently doing taking a stranglehold of his mind, he answered abruptly, "Yeah? What is it now?"

"Jim?" a familiar, feminine and very puzzled voice on the other end questioned. "Is that you?"

His eyebrows immediately shot up. Honey? Why the hell was she calling him? It only proved how strongly his Vegas vacation was affecting him. He couldn't figure out why she'd want to call him. Flushing, he attempted to cover up his rather rude greeting. Glancing up at the ceiling as if in search of a divine intervention that was destined not to come, he mumbled out a barely articulate, "Honey."

"Yeah….well…" Honey stopped herself before she started stammering. A small frown settled on her forehead. She shook her head in bewilderment and pulled back her phone to stare at it in shock.

"Hey, you don't sound too happy there," Jim gently chided and leaned against the sliding glass door, feeling more at ease now. The picturesque Nevada sky captured his attention. Gorgeous and never-ending blue, with a few white puffy clouds floating by. A large sun spread its warm rays, touching everything on the ground. Postcard perfect. "Remember. You're the one who called me."

Honey bit her lip. He was wrong. She hadn't called him. At least, she hadn't meant to if she had called him. Wait…no, she decided after a moment, ending her internal argument with herself. There was no way she could have misdialed. And if she had misdialed, there was absolutely no way she would have mistaken Jim's name for Trixie's on her contacts list. Too many names resided between them. No, she thought again, this time with a definitive nod. She'd definitely used Trixie's cell phone number. She was certain of it. But that just left one interesting and very perplexing question. Why was her brother answering Trixie's cell?

"Honey?" Jim prompted as the silence stretched on. He took a sip of his coffee. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah. I'm still here," she responded slowly while her mind started to work, gaining in force and volume, as she attempted to puzzle out the problem. Only two possibilities were possible. Either she really had misdialed and called up the wrong number, which she'd already decided wasn't all that likely, or… Her lovely eyes doubled in size. The _or_ was much more tantalizing than a mere mistake on her part. Using the sharp instincts honed by helping solve mystery after mystery during her teenage years, she settled back on the comfortable wicker loveseat, daintily crossed one ankle over the other, and toed off her work shoes. She prepared to see if she could reel him in with a wide smile on her face. "I did make the phone call." She paused before purring out, "Didn't I?"

Confused, Jim inclined his head to the side, taken aback by the whole conversation. It seemed so…odd. "Of course you did," he answered slowly, wondering if his sister had been working too hard. She sounded strained or something. "Honey? Are you all right? Have you been feeling well? You don't sound quite like yourself."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me. I'm fine. Perfectly perfect, as I like to say," she hastened to assure him, waving a gentle hand through the air that he couldn't see. All the while an odd sort of glimmer shone out of her hazel eyes, making them appear more like a big cat on the hunt than the sweet-natured sister she actually was. "I found myself with a few spare moments before my wonderful husband returned home from work. He's such a dedicated doctor, you know. So I thought to myself that it would be a terrific idea if I'd give my wonderful _full-blooded adopted brother_ a call to see how he's doing."

He missed the extra emphasis she put on the recipient of her phone call, as well as the slightly sarcastic bent to her statement. As the confusion started to leave, he took another sip and smiled, an honest to goodness smile, never once suspecting the path Honey's thoughts were on or the mistake he'd unintentionally made. "I always love hearing from you, Honey. Any time. So, what's up? How's everything in Sleepyside?"

"Sleepyside's Sleepyside," she remarked with a small roll of the shoulder. "It's been pretty quiet here. The biggest thing we're working on is Di's baby shower, which is coming up at the end of the summer. But enough about that. I'm sure it's much more exciting out where you are." It had to be. It just had to be. All ears, she leaned forward. "What have you been doing to keep yourself busy?"

Memories of the very recent activities he'd participated in flashed before his eyes. Somehow, he didn't think any of them would be acceptable to share with his sister. "Oh, a little of this," he mumbled, cursing the fact that his cheeks were flaming despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

"And a little of that," Honey finished for him with a charming giggle.

He managed a non-committal sort of a sound. Giving her as much of the truth as he could, he offered up the understatement of the year, "So far my vacation's been a good one."

"Cool. It's great to know that Vegas has agreed with you. I know you weren't exactly excited about going there in the first place." Honey tapped an insistent foot against the floorboard of her porch. How she would have loved to have been there, questioning him in person. She wouldn't have been able to let him get away with so much. Cellular lines didn't offer the same interviewing experience as a face-to-face interrogation would have. She blew out a breath, tucked back a stray strand of her honey-colored hair, and prepared for the next round. As innocently as possible, already aware of whom he had to have run into, she inquired brightly, "Have you seen anyone from Sleepyside?"

He choked. "What?" he stammered out after regaining control from his coughing fit.

She may not have had the luxury of being there in person but she heard the truth in his voice. He was guilty. And it wasn't because he'd run into Dan. With as much sweetness as she could muster she tossed him a line, all the while wishing she could ask about the person she really wanted to inquire about, "Dan, Jim. I mean Dan. Have you seen him yet?"

With his mind focused on one person and one person only, Jim completely forgot that Dan had contacted Honey right after he'd arrived in Las Vegas. "Dan?" he repeated, feeling like an absolute idiot. "Why are you asking me about Dan?"

Oh, something was definitely up. It was rare to hear her brother so rattled. Making a mental note to get in touch with Dan as soon as she finished her talk with Jim, she said in what she hoped was a pleasant, disarming tone, "Daniel Mangan. Nephew of Regan, our talented groom. Fellow Bob-White. One of our best friends. Tall, dark, handsome."

"I don't know about the handsome part," Jim grumbled under his breath, causing his sister to giggle. He put down his mug and wiped away the small splatter of coffee on his shirt.

She took a deep breath. In true Honey-fashion, the words tumbled out, rapid-fire and quick. "Dan texted me the other day. He needed some help. You know, he was looking for you at your hotel but couldn't find your real name under the reservations. He didn't know that our mother always makes reservations under her maiden name so I sent back the actual name Mother made your reservations under." When Jim didn't respond, she blew out an annoyed breath and persisted, "Dan met up with you. Right?"

Thinking it was much better to admit to having one Bob-White nearby but not two, he admitted in a barely audible voice, "We've seen each other."

Honey pushed herself out of the wicker chair and started pacing along her back porch, all the while wondering what the hell was going on in Vegas. Something was up. Something big. She was sure of it. And that something involved her brother, Dan and the woman she'd intended to call. Her pacing brought her to the French doors. Scowling, she peered at the calendar pinned to the far wall of her kitchen. She had half a mind to join them in Las Vegas but one look at her busy week, as well as her husband's, derailed that particular train of thought. Although she didn't want to, she'd have to settle for phone interrogations…and as many as it took to get the best, most informative answers. Wondering what else she could get out of her annoyingly tight-lipped brother, she murmured, "I bet having Dan around has certainly livened things up."

Jim ambled his way towards the bar. After slipping onto a stool, in perfect view of the doorway, he considered her innocent statement. Dan's arrival certainly had livened things up. Not quite in the way Honey meant but…without his impromptu insertion into their Vegas vacation, he highly doubted if the events of the past twenty-four hours would have occurred. A small grin graced his face. He'd have to remember to thank his friend for showing up. "You could say that again."

Daniel Mangan was going to have to be more forthcoming than her brother. He was simply going to have to be. She wouldn't accept anything less. Hiding her burgeoning frustrations beneath her sweet demeanor, Honey went on the attack again. "Well, besides a little of this and a little of that, what exactly have you been doing?"

"Poker. Casinos. Restaurants." Jim shrugged his shoulder, unwilling to go into details. He couldn't. Because the entirety of his time in Vegas centered around the one person he'd rather not talk about with his sister right now. Impatiently, he glanced towards the doorway again, wondering when his girl would show up. Hell, he missed her.

"Have you gone to the restaurant Mother wanted you to visit?" Unconsciously copying her brother, she slipped a slim hip onto the edge of the porch railing and let one long leg dangle.

_Damn_. He hadn't remembered, had completely forgotten about the actual reason behind his enforced vacation to begin with. As smoothly as possible, not wanting Honey to know that he'd had other things to occupy his mind and had never actually visited the restaurant, although he had tasted their take-out, he crossed his fingers and lied, "Of course."

Something in his tone of voice made Honey sit up. He couldn't fool her. There were many things she knew about her brother. At the top of the list rested the fact that he was a notoriously bad liar. It didn't look like he'd improved any over the years. Well aware that he was lying, she prepared to help him dig a deeper hole for himself and inquired perkily, "How was it?"

"Oh, good. Very good. It would be a good, solid investment for…" His voice trailed off. For the life of him, he who had been gifted with a terrific memory that had seen him skip a grade in school, graduate from NYU and Harvard Law School, and become a valuable employee at their parents' company, couldn't recall the name of their mother's friend. Sheepishly, he asked, "Who wanted to invest in it again?"

"Cecelia Sinclair," Honey supplied promptly. Her memory was wonderful.

"Right," Jim agreed with a small, choked chuckle meant to disguise his embarrassment. "She'll love the restaurant. It's a good, solid investment."

"You're repeating yourself," Honey pointed out helpfully. "You've said 'good' four times now."

"Right." Then he stopped, because he was repeating himself yet again. Going with a laugh that sounded forced to his own ears, Jim quickly added, "Well, tell Mom that her friend will be very happy. It really is a good inv…I mean, a great opportunity for her. She won't want to miss out on it." He hoped. He didn't have a clue, other than the little research he'd done on the restaurant before he'd arrived in Las Vegas.

"I'll be sure to do that." Honey started tapping a well-manicured fingernail against the wooden railing. "So…by my calculations, it's got to be, what, about 2:30 out there in Nevada?"

Hoping they were getting onto a subject where he wouldn't have to lie or mislead her, Jim answered, relieved, "Just about."

"I thought so." Honey batted at the trailing ends of a hanging plant. "My day finished up a short while ago. I've been home for a full thirty glorious minutes now. What have you done so far today?"

He'd done a lot. Not anything he wanted to tell, of course, and it hadn't involved leaving the bedroom, except for a very interesting excursion to the bathroom where he'd learned that showering with Trixie proved to be a stimulating experience that he'd love to repeat. But he wasn't about to say any of that to Honey. Without thinking, he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Not much. In fact, I'm drinking my first cup of coffee for the day."

Her face felt like it was going to settle into permanent lines of shock. "Wait. What did you just say? My brother, Jim Frayne, who usually beats the sun up, just _woke up_?" she inquired incredulously, the last words coming out on a small shriek of surprise.

Jim realized his mistake immediately. Swearing inwardly, he settled for yet another one-word answer, "Yeah."

What was happening in Vegas, anyway? Honey's lips pursed while warning bells set off quite an alarming peal in her ears. She cursed her busy work schedule again. As tempting as a sudden vacation would be there was simply no way she could arrange it. At least, not without resigning. And she had no desire to quit to simply discover the answers to her overwhelming curiosity, although it was beyond vexing not to know what was going on. "Well, since that's the case, I'm going to have to rephrase my question a little. What exactly did you do last night?"

He wondered what she'd say if he told her the truth. He'd…well not exactly he, but his current alter-ego, had married his fiancée, who happened to be played by their fellow co-president. Then they'd experienced an incredible night together…a night that had continued well into the wee hours of the morning and was the reason why he was just moving about, halfway through the afternoon. He didn't realize it but his lips pulled up into a very satisfied, very happy, and a very primitive, grin. "Nothing much," he answered while his eyes shone with the potency of the recent memories.

Oh, she was going to have to end the call and soon. She had to interrogate Dan. He was the only one who she was going to get any satisfaction from. Her brother was being stubbornly close-mouthed. Honey stared across her backyard while her newest strategy began to form. "So…let me recap your vacation so far. You've visited the casinos. You have your scouting report on the restaurant ready for our mother. You ran into Dan. And you're sleeping in. Sounds to me like you must be getting a lot of rest and relaxation out there." Her pause was intentional. With a glint to her eyes, she sucked in her breath and waited for his response.

R&R. What a joke. If anything, rest and relaxation were the furthest things from his mind…and had been, ever since he ran across Trixie in that bar downstairs. Truth to tell, he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Finally seeing the shadow he'd been dying to see darken the doorway, he said into the phone, anxious to end the phone call, "That about sums it up, Honey. Thanks for calling. I've got to go. I'll talk to you later." A quick push of the finger and he disconnected the call before his sputtering, stuttering sister could offer her objections or farewells.

"Was that Honey on the phone?" Trixie took a hesitant step into the room. Seeing him out of the bedroom, in the bright light of day, while they were both awake and aware and not held captive within the grips of their shared passion, was rather different from the exceptional ease of the night before. Nervously, she watched him closely, wondering what he was thinking.

"Yeah." It seemed that one word answers were all he was capable of. The bright pink cell slipped out of his hand, to land on the top of the bar. Forgetting about its very presence or the fact that he'd just finished a very peculiar phone call with his sister, Jim slowly stood up. He should have looked her over. It was what he'd been planning to do. But he couldn't get past one simple, glaring detail. Her shirt. Her gray shirt. Her very familiar gray T-shirt.

Trixie knew her cheeks were turning that blasted shade of red again. She could feel them heating up. Her hands bunched the edge of the overlarge shirt while she second-guessed her choice of attire. Maybe she shouldn't have gone with her instincts. Maybe she should have chosen something less…intense. Or obvious. Or his. Her bare toes curled into the carpet while panic momentarily claimed her. She wondered what on earth possessed her to don that particular article of clothing. It had seemed right, especially after their night together. But with Jim staring at her, simply staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, and not moving or talking or doing anything else but staring…Well, now she wasn't quite so sure of her choice. It took all her strength to inquire, "Jim?"

The emerald had darkened; oh, possessively so. He couldn't look away from her shirt. He knew it well. Hell, it had been his, once upon a time. The NYU was still proudly emblazoned across the front, if a little faint now. And it hadn't handled aging all that well, either. It was threadbare; especially worn through in a few important places. He inwardly cursed the fact that she'd remembered to put a bra on. Of course, Dan or whoever was going to be interrupting them in a manner of seconds would have walked in on something they'd much rather not have seen. And still might, with the amount of feelings viewing her in his old shirt stirred up within him. Before he recognized his intentions, he started walking towards her, his steps slow and purposeful.

Trixie watched his approach warily. When two freckled hands reached out and pulled her to him, she let out a large relieved breath. When his mouth descended down onto hers as if it had been years since their last kiss instead of a mere fifteen minutes ago, she decided her choice was definitely the right one. Most definitely. A happy little giggle bubbled up and over. "Jim," she whispered again, this time against his warm, welcoming lips.

He drew back and arched an eyebrow. "Nice shirt," he complimented, scanning her once again with his interested gaze. "You look good in it."

"Thanks," she answered, laughing louder when he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin on her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed while she marveled how the wonderfulness of the night hadn't dissipated with the coming of the day. It hadn't. If anything, it only seemed to be getting stronger. The realization delighted her more than anything, caused her to confide quietly, "I may not have always worn it but I have always liked it."

"Yeah, well..." Jim caught at the hem of it. "It looks great on you but…" He started to lift it, forgetting the time limit or the fact that they were going to have visitors very soon. "It would look much better off."

Trixie's breath caught in her throat. Finding it incredible that he could still want her as much as he very obviously did, she watched with wide blue eyes as he slowly started to pull the shirt up. He'd only made it halfway when a loud, insistent and extremely unwelcome knock on the connecting door sounded, bringing a swift and complete end to her rising desire.

"Do we have to let them in?" Jim grumbled disconsolately, frustrated. He frowned in the direction of the door as a cold bucket of water quickly dashed his desire. Slowly, he let the shirt fall back down.

She dropped her head against his chest and breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne. He smelled so good, so familiar, so Jim. "I think we do," she mumbled back regretfully, her hands resting at his sides while she concentrated on the simple act of breathing. "I hate to say it but I really think we do."

He shot a killer glare when the knock sounded again. A low growl came up and out of his throat. "Let's not," he suggested huskily, running a hand over her curls, pressing her head against his chest. "Maybe we could barricade it."

Smiling at his foolishness, she squeezed him around the waist. "Who do you think it is?"

"I don't care." Jim carefully gauged the distance between the connecting door and the doorway to the hall. Eyebrows lifted while he thought about all the possibilities. "Do you think we could get out of here and into the bedroom before that damn door opens?"

Since the door handle was starting to jiggle, she correctly guessed that they didn't have a prayer of a chance. Trixie gave one quick negative shake of her head and giggled again when he positioned her to stand in front of him. She slanted one last glance over her shoulder before the door finally opened and they were no longer alone.

"Hello?" Dan called out loudly. He looked comical with his dark eyes tightly closed and his hands held out in front of him. He took a few steps in, wildly feeling around for anything he might bump into. "There's no point in hiding. I know you two are in here. I'm only going to say this once. You've got until the count of ten. Then I'm going to open my eyes. You'd both better be decent. You've had enough time to do whatever it is that you were doing. I'd rather not have to scrub my eyes out with Lysol."

Scowling at his antics and his intentionally aggravating words, Trixie reached down and picked up the same throw pillow Jim had tossed at Dan nearly twenty-four hours earlier. Without regret, she hummed it at him with much more force than Jim had employed. It caught Dan in the side of the face before he made it to the count of three.

Dan opened his eyes, a large frown on his handsome face. "Hey!" he complained, glowering at the two.

Trixie smiled sweetly back at him. She wasn't the only sister to a trio of brothers for nothing. "Take a hint, Mangan," she advised him under her breath, settling back against Jim.

Amused, Jim let out a quick bark of laughter. "Good aim," he complimented her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and holding her as close to him as he could get her.

Dan rolled his eyes. While he privately thought it was wonderful that the two were much happier with each other, he'd much prefer not to have to witness it. Seriously, he didn't want to see…anything. Being careful not to look overly long at the couple, he skirted around them until he made it the recliner. "Don't get mad at me, kids. I bought you as much time as I could. Your partner wanted to break in here around ten this morning...Mrs. Hart," he tacked on for good measure, a lip curling with barely concealed amusement.

Not surprised that Dan knew about their 'marriage', Trixie stared at the floor. She cleared her throat while words escaped her. "Hum…well…yeah."

"Quite an articulate lady you've got there, Mr. Hart," Dan remarked playfully, staring over her bent head and smirking at Jim.

He'd been in the room for three minutes and was already jabbing at them. Jim chose to overlook the fact that Dan obviously knew about the events of the night before. Running a comforting hand up and down Trixie's back, enjoying the soft texture of his old shirt underneath his fingertips, he wondered aloud, "What does Max want with us?"

"Nothing specific. At least, not yet. He's aware that today's supposed to be the Big Day," Dan answered, speaking the last two words with air quotes. His dark eyes gleamed with unspoken amusement. Obviously, the Big Day for the mission had nothing on the Big Night for the two honeymooners. He could tell by the extremely relaxed air of comfortability surrounding them. He lowered himself onto the recliner. "He wants to start getting his ducks in a row. If you ask me, I think he's anxious to get this mission finished up so he can go home."

Trixie walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she turned away until something very pink caught her attention. She frowned down at her cell, surprised at herself for not knowing its whereabouts. She never forgot her cell, never forgot to bring it with her, always had it within reach. But then again her mind had been on other, much more important things than her cell phone, she reminded herself. A soft smile in Jim's direction showed exactly who she'd been thinking about. "I'm not surprised. He misses Jocelyn."

"Without a doubt." Dan glanced down at the pink phone in her hand. He cleared his throat before bringing up a more pressing topic and cocked his head to the side, keeping Jim within his sights. "So, Jim, by any chance did you happen to recently end a phone call with someone from home?"

"Yeah. Honey called. How'd you know that?" Not embarrassed in the least by the need to be as close to Trixie as he could possibly get, he joined her over at the bar and was rewarded with the sunniest of smiles, only half-listening to Dan.

"Did you…ah…happen to notice which phone she called on?" Dan pointed at the one in Trixie's hand and arched a lone eyebrow.

"What do you mean? She called me." Jim glanced back, confused.

"Oh, no. She most certainly did not. You answered Hollywood's cell, pal." Dan held up his own, ignoring the two shocked looks coming his way. "I'm currently keeping my phone turned off. Some odd sense of self-preservation had me ignore her call. The text message she just sent was different. That is one very insistent and extremely indignant Honey Wheeler Belden right now."

Trixie's mouth opened and closed and then opened and closed again. All she was able to utter was a low groan. "Oh, woe." She leaned against Jim, wondering when she'd lost total control. Of everything. For clarification purposes only, she asked weakly, hoping for a negative response, "Honey? She called…me?"

"She most definitely called you," Dan replied blithely. He didn't sound all that sympathetic even though both Trixie and Jim appeared to be in a state of complete and utter shock. If he was being honest, he found the whole situation amusing. To him, the entertainment value was beyond parallel. With one edge of his lip curving up again, he turned to Jim and demanded, "Personally, I want to know how you didn't recognize the fact that the phone you picked up was pink. Bright pink, in fact. What a shame, man. I never knew you were color blind."

Jim looked down at the cell in question, unable to formulate a response. He didn't have one. Dan would eat him alive if he admitted to the only defense he had. Mooning over Trixie wasn't something he was going to admit to doing in Mangan's presence.

"I did the same thing the other day, only in reverse," Trixie admitted into the sudden quiet. "Although I don't think Mart suspected anything when I answered Jim's phone by mistake."

"Nope, he wouldn't," Dan remarked with too much good cheer, the kind that set the others' teeth to rattling. "Honey's a little different than your brother, though, Trix. According to the text she sent me, Honey wants to find out exactly why her brother is answering her best friend's phone. Only she didn't phrase it in such nice terms. I'm going to avoid her. You two need to do the same; at least until you come up with a good cover story for her. She'll see through any line of BS you try to pass off. She's not stupid."

Trixie ran both hands over her still-damp curls. "Honey. Damn it all. Out of all the people it could have been, it had to be Honey."

"We could probably convince her the cellular lines got mixed up," Jim mused quietly, trying to come up with some plausible way to explain how he'd answered Trixie's cell phone without admitting that he'd actually answered her cell phone. He winced. Now even his thoughts were starting to sound like Honey.

"Won't work," Dan sang out merrily. "She's too savvy. If you tried it, she'd only call the cell phone company herself, anyway. It won't fly."

"Or we can avoid her calls like Dan advised us to do until later," Trixie suggested after a minute, unable to think of a single other avenue.

"It is your only hope." Dan put both hands over his head, another smirk settling on his face. The two were so damn amusing, much better than any floor show or musical revue could be. To think he had a front row seat, too. He only wished he had someone else to share it with. "She won't give up. Honey's relentless when it comes to ferreting out information. If she can't have satisfaction now, she'll simply take it at another time and place."

As if on cue, Jim's cell started to ring. He stalked across the room and very quickly muted the sound, letting the call ring through before going into voicemail. "It's going to tick her off, though," he declared ruefully, imagining the look on her face when she realized no one was going to respond to her calls. "She's not going to like being ignored."

"No worries. I'll take care of it." At his arrogant best, Dan used his two thumbs to point at himself. "I'll send her a text to let her know she doesn't have to worry about us and that you'll get in touch with her as soon as you can to explain the…ah…situation."

Jim put his phone down, leaned against the wall and rubbed the side of his right temple where a headache was starting to brew. "Great. Just great," he grumbled sarcastically.

Trixie sidled up next to him, slipped her hand into his, and shared a tiny smile with him. "It'll be okay," she assured him lowly.

"I'm sorry I answered your phone," he apologized, turning to face her.

"Don't worry about it." Hoping to reassure him, she held on tightly to his hand. "We'll take care of it when the time comes. Right now, Dan's right. We're going to have to put the Honey issue on the backburner. We have one last thing to take care of first."

The fourth member of their group appeared in the open doorway to the other suite, preventing Jim from answering. "Good morn…I mean, afternoon," Max greeted them, straight-faced, and a devilish gleam to his eyes.

Trixie couldn't prevent yet another blush. Everyone in the room knew exactly what she and Jim had been doing. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat and answered faintly, "Good afternoon, Max."

He nodded curtly at the others in the room before addressing Trixie, "I hate to interrupt your little pow-wow over here, Belden, but I need to steal you away for a moment." He stepped back, motioned for her to enter his suite. Keeping one hand on the doorknob, he added, "We need to get caught up on a few important details."

She caught the slight reprimand in his tone. Agents were never supposed to put their own personal needs above their work, no matter what occurred during the course of their mission. She'd most definitely broken that rule, and more, the night before, and without a moment's regret or hesitation. Squaring her shoulders, she bobbed her head once and, with one last longing look of fond farewell for Jim and a tiny wave for Dan, made her way towards the other room, her cell clutched in her hand and her face as impassive as she could make it. What a hell of a way to start the day.


	29. Chapter 29

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dreading the conversation looming ahead, Max leaned against the door and scrubbed a tired hand over his face. He watched his abnormally quiet partner take in the empty room, wisely using the time to collect his thoughts and plot out the best course of action. Pointing out the glaringly obvious was never an enjoyable experience. It was worse when he already knew the recipient was not going to accept it well or if at all. He sent up an inward prayer for guidance, made one last, longing wish for his wife to be there to help him through this sticky situation, and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. Whether he wanted to do it or not, it had to be done. Simple as that.

Ignoring Max, completely unaware of the tumultuous thoughts tumbling through his mind, Trixie strolled to the center of the living room and gave one long searching look around the room. It took a moment for her to calculate what was wrong with it. The room was empty. No Shane in sight. And Max had invited her over. He hadn't wanted to speak to her in front of Jim or Dan. No, he'd requested her presence in his suite. Where they were completely alone. The realization brought on a case of sudden apprehension, a feeling she couldn't remember experiencing around her partner before, not even during the early years when she was an agent in training and he was one of her toughest trainers. She inhaled sharply, pivoted around on her heels, and asked in an extremely bright, chipper tone to counteract her rising suspicions, "So, ahhh, what's new, Max?"

Max let out an amused chuckle. He hooked a thumb in the direction of the closed door. With a slight curl to his lips, he stated sardonically, making her last name a complete, one-word sentence, "Belden. Really. I think that should be my question."

Trixie refused to blush again. She absolutely refused to. Arching an eyebrow, she attempted to stare him down. Only a few more years of experience had him winning the contest, much to her inner regret. Sighing, she gave up and threw her hands up in the air, both literally and figuratively. "All right," she groaned out and flopped down on the overstuffed sofa, unknowingly committing a tactical error. She frowned up at him, aware of what he was alluding to. She'd already suffered through Dan. Erroneously, she figured she could handle anything Max had for her. "Come on, Max. Do your worst. Hit me with your best shot."

"Hit you? With what?" he wondered with an expression of sham innocence on his face. He even threw in a few innocent blinks at her, just to see how she would respond.

With a defiant toss of her damp curls and an unpleasant scowl on her face, she declared with as much haughtiness as she could muster, "I know you, Max. I know the signs, too." She gestured around the deserted suite. "I'm ready for whatever you have to dish out."

"Dish out? What could I possibly want to dish out to you?" Pondering the question, he drummed his fingers against his thigh and ignored her frustrated growl of impatience. He stated as simply as possible, "Let's take a look at the evidence, shall we? So far this mission has gone like clockwork. There hasn't been one missed opportunity, one single mistake. Nothing odd, unique or out of the ordinary has happened." The irony in his gaze held her an unwilling captive. He waited a beat. "Right?"

Trixie crossed her arms over her chest. Her scowl turned dark while her cheeks began to heat despite her best intentions. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Max," she complained loudly, tossing in an insolent roll of her eyes for good measure.

"What do you mean?" he inquired, getting into the spirit of the teasing. There was one thing that never changed about Trixie Belden. She was always a joy to aggravate, no matter what the circumstances. Pinning a benign smile on his face, he continued in that cheerful voice he knew would drive her crazy, "You know this whole mission has been picture perfect from the beginning. In hindsight, we should have had it recorded for training purposes. I'm certain the new recruits could learn a lot from watching our stellar performance out here in Las Vegas."

She let out an unladylike snort, her hackles starting to rise, and declared with ire flashing vibrantly in her eyes, "Come on, Max. Enough of this foolishness. You know as well as I do that it took a wrong turn right from the very beginning. In fact, everyone associated with us knows that this mission is seriously screwed up. You can stop trying to be funny. It's not going to work." She looked him dead in the eye, unwilling to back down. "And I'm not laughing."

Her cell phone couldn't have picked a worse time for an interruption. Trixie frowned down at the tiny, inanimate and completely innocent object, making small muttering sounds of discontent the entire time. One quick glance confirmed her suspicions. It was the one call she'd been expecting. Smoothing away the lines of irritation, hoping none of her rising annoyance with Max would show through, she infused as much enthusiasm as possible into her voice and answered the call with an extremely cheerful, "Hello? Why, it's you, Mr. Young! How delightful to hear from you."

Pushing himself away from the door, Max moved in closer, unashamedly listening in on Trixie's half of the conversation. It impressed him how neatly she was able to put aside their conversation. The way she slipped back into character was effortless. She cooed and coddled at exactly the right places. She offered the correct amount of simpering gratitude anytime it felt like Mr. Young needed it. She even successfully dodged the first offer for a meeting and coyly suggested one more suitable to their situation, far away from the penthouse which they all firmly believed to be dangerous enemy territory. Not surprising him in the least, she wrangled an agreement out of him as easily as she batted her eyelashes. Max took it all in, pleased with her work, and nodded once in acknowledgement when she finally said her farewells.

Trixie carefully placed her cell on the coffee table and sent a slanted look his way. Aware that he'd been a willing eavesdropper on her end of the conversation, she sat back against the comfortable cushions. Tucking her tongue into her cheek, she inquired smartly, "Did you catch all that?"

"Tonight. 8:45. In a back room at _The Crown Vic_." Max gave her a small bow before applauding her, "It was brilliant of you to turn down the first invitation and suggest another one. I don't think another meeting at his penthouse would have been a good idea."

"We survived the first meeting there without a problem. Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed swimming in his pool. The second one, though?" Trixie gave a small shudder. Whether it was one of disgust, fear, terror or a combination of all three, she couldn't say. But there was one thing she was absolutely certain of. Staring up at Max, she stated forcefully, "I have no desire to ever set foot in that penthouse again."

"I hear you." In perfect accord, Max nodded. He never wanted to listen in on something like that ever again, either. It had been awful to hear what was going on and not to be able to do anything about the events that had occurred a few evenings earlier. And yet it was another tiny piece of evidence that his partner wasn't as attentive as she should be.

Trixie reached back to touch her small burn through the fabric of her T-shirt. It didn't hurt at all. She'd almost forgotten it was there. However, it served as a strong reminder how quickly a situation could get out of her control especially when she was more concerned about Jim and his well-being than anything else. She smoothed away a grimace, hoped that nothing like that would happen again, and said lowly, eager to use the excuse to get back over to the other suite, "Contact's been made. If you'll excuse me, I need to let Jim know."

"In a minute, Belden. In a minute. I'm not ready to let you go yet. Stay right where you are." His softly uttered command captured her in mid-stand. She immediately dropped back to the sofa, her shoulders set in a defensive line. He couldn't help but grin back at her and the waves of dissatisfaction rolling off of her. "The stage has finally been set for tonight. But that's not the reason why I asked you to come over here." Max rocked back on his heels, his thumbs tucked into the loops of his pants, and declared, "As I was saying before our untimely interruption, we've got a problem on our hands. A small problem, Belden, but a problem nonetheless."

Trixie narrowed her eyes at him. She already knew what the 'small' problem was. Going on the offensive, her only recourse, she tossed back her damp, tangled curls and acknowledged, "If you remember correctly, Max, I was the one who wanted to end the mission right after Jim was mistaken for my fiancé. You were the one who thought it would be a fantastic idea to continue the charade. Remember?" She couldn't resist tacking on and jabbed an accusing finger in his direction.

"That seems like a pretty accurate assessment," he agreed readily, more than willing to take his share of the blame for the unusual state of their mission. He was running the point, after all, and she was, technically, still working underneath him.

"All right. Since neither of us requires a full recap, let's move on to the analysis, then." She crossed her arms over her chest, covering up the NYU. Icy blue eyes stared at him while she attempted to make him squirm. "You've got to tell me the truth here, Max. Do you still think it was a good idea to substitute a civilian in your place?"

He lifted a fatalistic shoulder, unfazed by the question. "Maybe it wasn't the greatest decision I've ever made during a mission," he said with a little sigh.

"Maybe?" she questioned, her voice gaining in volume, staring at him with the most incredulous expression on her flushed face. Righteous indignation gave her the momentum to spring up out of her seat and around the coffee table. A hand on her hip, she insisted fiercely, "I told you from the very beginning that pairing me and Jim together wasn't going to work."

Max wasn't impressed with the petite mound of fury quivering in front of him. His quietly uttered response halted her in her tracks. "But then you wouldn't be married right now if we had followed your wishes, would you?" He hid a smug smile. She had brought him exactly where he'd wanted to go, practically on her own. He hadn't had to exert too much of an effort. Now he simply had to drive a few hard points home to her and hopefully not tick her off…too much.

Her next words froze almost painfully in her throat, like shards of ice. Everything about her went still. Her back ramrod straight, she sucked in a deep breath and announced in a voice tinted with impossible to conceal defensiveness, "I am not married."

"You may not be but Beatrix Johnson most certainly is." Max considered her answer. He wanted to call her on it, he really did, but he cared for her too much to embarrass her, especially by pointing out the undeniable truth that it wasn't Beatrix Johnson and James Hart who'd spent the night and a good portion of the day together. He seriously doubted that they'd spent their large amount of time alone playing canasta or on-line poker or engaging in an in-depth discussion of the affairs of the world. To put it plainly, he didn't have any desire to know what they had done together. "And that brings us to our biggest quandary," he said, going for neutral, and hoping he'd succeeded with it.

"What do you mean?" Her forehead felt like it was settling into permanent lines of discontent. With a haughty toss of her curls, she stood her ground while mentally preparing herself for whatever came next. Judging from Max's blank expression it wasn't going to be something she appreciated. "The mission from hell is almost over. We've already overcome more problems than I care to recall. What could possibly be wrong with it now?"

"You just brought it up," he informed her as gently as possible. Judging from the way her eyebrows snapped together and the thin hard line her mouth became, he realized that he wasn't being gentle enough. It was only going to get worse. And she was going to be more than ticked off. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, Max admitted soberly, "While it pains me to say it, you were definitely right. The Chief and I should have listened to you. It wasn't the best idea to force you to accept Frayne as your partner. It definitely wasn't a great one to keep you two working together after all the problems that came up, either. We should have ended it when we had the chance."

"Tell me something I don't know," Trixie sneered through a false bravado she hoped he couldn't see through. She pressed her hands to her thighs in a move Jim would have immediately recognized as nervous and mentally prepared herself for whatever Max had in store for her next.

"I'm getting ready to. Tell you something you may not know, that is. But I'll apologize for it up front because, well…because you've always been my favorite agent to work with. Excluding Joss, of course," he hastened to add, finishing his uncharacteristic ramble with an apologetic smile. It was his hope that an apology ahead of time would take any of the sting out of the cold hard truth he was about to impart on her. He didn't like chastising her. Plus he really didn't want to hurt her. He cared for her too much, knew her too well. She meant too much to him.

His efforts were all for naught. There was a definite bite to her tone. "What is it, Max?"

"It's your work." Max hated doing it, hated telling her something he'd never had to tell her before. Five long strides brought him in front of her. As gently as he possibly could, he stated, "You are not performing well here, Belden. It's blatantly obvious. I've noticed it. Shane's noticed." He didn't add that a few members of their backup team had commented to him about her through texts and voice mail messages but never in person since they weren't allowed to have any personal contact unless it was deemed absolutely necessary during a mission, and that Joss, who was only hearing about their mission through him, was also worried about her. He reached out to touch her shoulder, wanting to offer comfort. It didn't surprise him when she jerked away from him. With a regretful sigh, he dropped his hand and added, "Your mind's clearly not in it."

Trixie knew she hadn't been perfect this time around. Hell, she knew the best words to describe her would be distracted and sidetracked. But it sucked, absolutely, positively sucked, having her superior point it out to her. Other than the quick jerk of her shoulder, she didn't allow any of her true feelings to surface. As coolly and calmly as she could, she answered back, one eyebrow arched as high as she could get it, "Really?"

Somehow, her apparently cool response rattled him more. He'd been expecting fireworks, not the coming of the next ice age. It only showed how excellent she was at hiding behind her secret agent persona. He drew in a deep breath before the words poured out, heedlessly and recklessly, "It's Frayne. I know he's responsible. He's made you lose your objectivity, your edge, that special part of you that makes you the best agent I've ever had the pleasure of working with. When you're around him, you don't see things the way you're supposed to. It makes you…no," he quickly corrected himself. "No. Let me rephrase that. He makes you vulnerable."

"He's not here. Don't blame him," Trixie insisted through clenched teeth, inwardly flinching at the word _vulnerable_. It was one of the words an agent never liked to be called. It ranked right up there with weak or useless. "I'm not going to hide behind him. Or Dan either," she tacked on swiftly before Max could point out that she currently had two people from her personal life mixed up in her professional one. "If you think someone's screwing up, then it's me. No one else."

"I know." He wanted to reach out again, to offer a soothing hand to her, but knew she'd rather bite it off right now than anything else. Pride ran extremely deep within her. She'd earned every right to it, too. She truly was the best he'd ever worked with. The fact that she was willing to take full responsibility only added to it. "Screwing up isn't the correct term, Belden. You've had to put up with a few unexpected surprises and you've done the best that you can. I guess it's more that you've simply…" Max took a deep breath before saying what he knew she'd take the largest amount of offense to, "Lost your focus."

"You're making me feel so much better," she muttered derisively, her tone the only clue that she was feeling more than she was allowing him to see.

He lifted an eyebrow at the petulance in her voice before resolutely plowing on, "Since it's imperative that focus is regained, I've been trying to figure out the best way to conclude our mission here."

"We sell Mr. Young the disc and get out of town," Trixie said, her face set and stony and her hands fisted into the soft material of her shirt.

"You're right again. That's what we need to do." Max stuck his hands in his pockets. "Unfortunately, completing the damn deal is part of our dilemma."

"I don't understand." Trixie gestured towards her cell phone, which sat on the coffee table. With a trace of sarcasm dogging her voice, she said, "The final meeting is set. I didn't mess that up. You witnessed it. All we have to do is go to it, give Mr. Young that stupid disc, take the money, and run as far and as fast as we can. That's it. We've been put through the tough parts and survived, despite my lack of focus." She nearly spit the hated phrase out at him. "What's so hard about this last part?"

He looked at her. Just looked at her. And inwardly praised her for not backing down. With a small grin flitting across his mouth, he asked, totally dead-pan, and amused in spite of himself and the subject material, "Honestly, Belden. Do you really think the final deal will go off like clockwork?"

She slapped a frustrated hand to her hip before snapping out, irritated, "Probably not."

"Exactly. I'm not counting on it, either. Not with the way this whole mission has gone since the very start of it." Max drew in a deep breath before sharing what he was afraid to share with her. He couldn't predict her reaction. Would she be relieved or angry? As such, he stood as tall as he could and warned her ahead of time, "I'm going to pull rank on you here."

Her wounded pride stopped throbbing. At least for the moment. Hiding the sudden strain of worry behind an impeccably impassive face, she questioned him, "How are you going to do that, Max?"

It was impossible to get a good read on her. While it made him proud to know that she was that good at hiding her emotions, this was one time he wished she hadn't been taught so well. He waited until he could look directly into her face before declaring, "I believe it would be in everyone's best interest if Frayne wasn't around when you complete the final deal. It should be you, Belden, and you alone. No one else."

"I see," was her immediate response, seemingly cool and distant. Only the tiny flicker of something deep and dangerous within the sapphire blue told the true depth of her feelings.

He took a tiny step back, wondering if he was about to get an upfront view of the fireworks he'd been expecting a few moments earlier. "You don't think clearly when he's around. You lose your objectivity. You know you do. It's happened at every turn, throughout the entirety of this mess of a mission." He thrust his hands into his pockets where he balled them up. Uncomfortable bringing up the topic to someone who felt more like a sister to him than anything else, he added, "You're so damn in love with him that you can't see straight. It's a weakness. Your only weakness, I'll admit, but a weakness we can't overlook. The solution, the only solution, is to take Frayne out of the equation."

"I see," she repeated again, in the same distant, remote tone.

He winced. Using her first name for the first time, he exclaimed, "Trixie! You know everything I've said is true. Everything. We can't ignore the bottom line. You don't do well when he's with you. You don't. You miss things. You stop thinking. You stop reacting. All you can see is him and only him. Try and deny it if you can," he challenged, wanting to see if she could.

"Fine." She muttered the famous last line that pissed off people use all the time through tightly gritted teeth. Believing it was enough, wanting to get out and lick her wounds on her own, she whirled around, prepared to head back over to her room and away from him and the truths he was throwing like tiny, well-aimed darts her way. An insistent and unwelcome hand at her elbow brought an immediate end to her progress. She didn't waste a second in trying to shake off his touch, which he wouldn't relinquish. Her lips pulled back as she hissed out, "Don't touch me right now, Max. I really wouldn't recommend it."

"Trixie!" Max held on tight, amazed by the amount of fury he could all but feel vibrating throughout her. Gentling his voice, he quietly added, "You can't leave. We're not finished yet."

"Oh, I think we most definitely are." She gave a mighty tug and pulled her arm out of his grasp while the light of battle sparked in her eyes. "Very finished. I'm not going to stay here another minute. No, let me rephrase that." Using the flat of her hand, she pushed against his chest, sending him back a good two feet. "You've just finished raking me and my job performance over the coals AND now you've come up with the stupidest suggestion ever. Why the hell should I stay?"

He didn't address the first part of her statement since it was, unfortunately, true. "Stupid suggestion…what are you talking about?" He frowned into her face, unable to figure out what could be so stupid over his idea, and rubbed at the spot on his chest, absently thinking it was a good thing she'd only used her palm and not her fist.

She slashed a furious hand through the air, missing his chin by a good three inches. "This whole mess of a mission was built on the belief that Mr. Young likes working with a couple who are committed to each other. A couple, I might add, who he just witnessed getting married. Last night!" she added, her voice rising up an octave. She jammed a finger into the center of his chest. With one hand on her hip and a curl to her lip, she questioned, her words drenched in sneering sarcasm, "What the hell are you thinking, Max? Do you think Mr. Young's going to accept it when only one-half of the happily married couple shows up for the final deal? Get real," she finished with a glare meant to make him feel stupid.

"Ah…damn." Max blew out a tiny breath. He hadn't thought of that angle. Already his mind was starting to whirl again, coming up with all different possible avenues, all different sorts of excuses, all different ways of getting Jim out of the meeting. Tapping a finger against his chin, he pondered haltingly, "Maybe we could…"

She stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Max!" she practically growled at him. "As much sense as it would make to take Jim out of the equation; hell, as much as I'd like to keep him out of any possible danger, it is not going to work now. It's too late. You're too late."

Considering her arguments, he slowly nodded his head. "Okay. Okay. You're making a few valid points here."

She stepped forward until they were toe-to-toe. It looked odd, the petite woman glowering up at the man who easily out-sized her by a good foot of height. She forced her hands to stay at her sides and mentally counted backwards from ten. When she was reasonably certain she wasn't going to pull out her hair or his, she stated in an eerily quiet voice, "And you are way too late, both with your words of wisdom and your stupid suggestion. Whether I'm screwing up the mission or not doesn't matter now. Whether Jim is acting as my partner or not doesn't matter, either. We're down to all or none here now, Max. All or none. Nothing else is going to suffice. Nothing," she reiterated strongly.

His eyes never left hers. As her superior and friend, he couldn't let it go without driving his most important point home. "You know you're not the same agent when he's around."

Trixie lifted her eyebrows, the only movement she employed to admit that he was right on the money. "Doesn't matter. We're going to have to deal with my inefficiency."

He had the grace to flush at her harsh term. "Trixie…"

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm telling you the truth. Mr. Young would be extremely suspicious if I show up alone. He's expecting Mr. and Mrs. Hart. And that's who he has to get."

"Understood." Damn but he did. He took his time blowing out a frustrated breath. The whole mission had been one huge headache for him. "What do you want to do?"

"We finish it," she said without a moment's deliberation. "We sell Mr. Young that damn disc tonight and then we get the hell out of Dodge. You've got our departure already planned out, right?" At his curt nod, she continued on, stating her demands and expecting them to be met without argument, "I want full back-up during the meeting tonight, too. With the entire focus on Jim, not me."

"All right." He couldn't help but feel as if the entire conversation had been useless. It also amazed him that she'd ended their conversation about her less than stellar job performance with a short list of her own demands, ones he'd just agreed to meet. "You need to realize that I would never have been in favor of making Frayne your partner had I realized how deep your feelings were for him."

Just like that, the fight went out of her. She swallowed a sharp gasp, unwilling to let him see the truth, and turned away from him, intending to leave. She'd stood up to him, defended herself, and somehow even managed to come out on top during their verbal sparring match about the state of the mission. However, she didn't want to share the truth of her feelings for Jim. With Max or anyone else.

A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her. Max felt the struggle underneath his hand. The agent and the woman were very clearly at odds. He reached for her other shoulder, slowly turned her around until he could see her, and waited until she reluctantly brought her eyes up to his. The answer was there, bright and vivid and undeniable. "Trixie?"

On a super soft voice, the words so low he barely heard them, she admitted to him, "I've always loved him." Saying what she'd kept buried for so long didn't give her a sense of panic. Instead, it had the opposite effect. It calmed and soothed. In an awed tone, she repeated quietly, reverently, "Always."

Suspecting that she didn't want to maim him anymore, he moved forward and pulled her into a brotherly type of embrace, wanting to offer some comfort. "The crux of our problem," he mumbled quietly and truthfully. "Your feelings. They've complicated things for you a lot this time around, haven't they?"

Blonde curls bobbed. "Just a little," she whispered on a small laugh tinged with the barest hint of self-mockery.

"Hey. He's a lucky man." Max drew back, ruffled her curls in much the same way any of the male Bob-Whites would have, and aimed a reassuring smile her way. "A very lucky man."

"Yeah, well…" She lifted both of her shoulders. The night they'd shared had been wonderful but it had been mainly actions, very little words. At least, no words had been shared that would help her figure out where they went next. With color rising high in her cheeks, Trixie averted her gaze, suddenly finding the carpet interesting. There was no way in hell she was confiding all that in Max. "We haven't exactly gotten that far yet."

A rich chuckle burst out of him. "You're wrong. You've got to believe me when I say this." Remembering the short, impassioned speech Frayne had delivered the night she'd been laid low by Mr. Young and his horrible henchman, he lifted her chin up, stared at the faded freckles dotting her nose, and grinned. "He loves you, too."

She hoped so. Oh, how she hoped he did. Trixie didn't answer. She settled for a tiny smile instead, took a deep breath, and firmly pulled the door shut on the subject. The only other person she wanted to talk about it with was in the other room. Much to her overwhelming chagrin, she didn't imagine there'd be a chance to discuss it until after their time in Vegas was over. "Is it okay to head back over?" She hooked a thumb towards her suite. "Or do you need me for anything else? I'm sure I've got another wound or two you could rub some salt into if you'd like."

Shaking his head, chuckling again, pleased with the return of the resiliency she was known for, Max gave her a small push towards the door. "Just bring Frayne up to date on the most recent plans."

"Will do." Trixie started towards the door, and then halted. Whirling around, she rushed back towards the man she considered her mentor. Before she was fully aware of her intentions, she impulsively threw her arms around him, hugged him quickly, and mumbled lowly, "Thanks, Max. You've been the best. Even when I've wanted to deck you or shoot you or toss you off a very high cliff, you've always been the best."

He hugged her back and watched her scurry out of the room the second he released her. "So have you, Belden," he whispered under his breath and followed her to the connecting door. He peeked into the other suite, watched her curly head hurry towards the kitchen, probably in search of some solitude. She'd prefer licking her wounds in private for a little while, even though privacy was a highly priced commodity within the confines of their two suites.

He waited until she was out of eyesight before leaning against the doorframe, trying hard to ignore a niggling thread of worry. Being in love with someone in their line of work was the biggest Achilles heel out there and the main reason why their agency generally searched out and recruited agents who did not have any ties at all, either of the romantic or familial type. He himself knew how difficult it was from years of experience. Luckily, it hadn't affected his job performance. At least, not overly much but thoughts of Joss and her safety had always been at the forefront of his mind during every single mission he'd been involved in. He'd learned to deal with it, the worry and the fear, but it had taken time. A whole lot of time. It was new to Trixie. At least she only had to make it through one more meeting with Jim as her partner. That was something to be grateful for. And then…he gave his thoughts a pause, arched a speculative eyebrow. It was going to be very interesting to find out in which direction she decided to go after the mission was completed but he knew where he'd lay every last cent of his bank account. Chuckling to himself, he turned away and shut the door before heading in the direction of his bedroom. He whipped off his shirt, tossed it carelessly off to the side, where it landed on the coffee table. A long, hot, stress-reducing shower sounded wonderful right about now.


	30. Chapter 30

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty

_During Trixie's meeting with Max…_

Jim stared at the back of the connecting door. Even though it was closed, even though he couldn't see her, even though it was ludicrous to continue staring at it when she wasn't there, he still couldn't take his eyes off the door. Only the sound of Dan's highly amused laughter broke into his untimely and unwisely preoccupation with the door. Mumbling a series of incoherent grumbles under his breath, he reluctantly turned away and speared Dan with a narrowed glance full of extreme annoyance. Finally he suggested lowly in an attempt to thwart any further teasing, "Don't you dare say a word, Mangan. Not a single word."

Dan fought to regain control; he truly did. But it was just so damn funny. Witnessing Jim losing it once again over the curly-haired blonde was priceless. It brought back such good memories. He held onto his sides, unable to stop, while the laughter continued to pour out. When the laughter finally slowed down to chuckles and then to a few much-needed gasps of air, he swiped at the tears of merriment trickling from his eyes and declared with sham innocence, lying through his teeth, "Hey, man. Chill. You've got it all wrong. I wasn't going to say a thing."

Channeling Trixie, Jim rolled his eyes and complained, "Like I'd believe anything you have to say."

Jim's dry response only made Dan's grin turn even more devilish. He reached out, clapped his friend on the shoulder, and chuckled yet again. "Hell, Frayne! You've got to cut me a break here. I should be paying you and Trixie the going rate for the biggest stage show out here in Vegas. You're both providing me with more entertainment than anything some nameless writer could ever dream up. Plus there's the added bonus that I don't even have to leave the room." He spread his arms out, wide and open, and agitated his friend further. "Look at me. I've got the best seat in the house. It's all here, just waiting for me. And I didn't have to fork over a cent."

An unflattering term Jim rarely used fell from his snarling lips. Needing to put as much distance as he could between himself and the current cause of his aggravation, he scurried over to the bar and grabbed his half-filled mug of coffee. He took a quick sip, only to realize that the liquid had turned disgustingly cool sometime over the course of the afternoon. Grimacing, he spit the coffee back out and slammed the mug back onto the bar, where a goodly amount managed to spill over the side. Staring up at the ceiling, he prayed for patience while Dan began chuckling once again. Ignoring the laughing lunatic, he grabbed a napkin and furiously started cleaning up his mess.

"Like I said. Priceless, man, priceless." Dan's grin felt like it was going to split his face; it was that big and beaming.

About to give Dan a sliver of his rapidly fraying temper, a short series of hard, insistent raps at the front door stopped him cold. Jim pivoted around and, with a sharp glance at Dan, ordered him in a low hiss, "Hide!" He waited until the dark-haired man sprinted out of the room before walking over to the door. Wondering who could be on the other side, he sucked in a deep breath and cautiously cracked it open. Then he had to quell the urge to slam it shut.

In a carbon copy move from yesterday, a polished black shoe successfully stopped the door from closing. Using the precious inches the foothold afforded him to his advantage, the Youngs' butler pushed back the door until he had a clear view of his disgruntled host. Just like the day before, he held another bag in his hand. Only this time, it wasn't a garment bag. No, the bag was made out of paper and had twin handles, with the name of the expensive and exclusive salon Trixie and Mrs. Young had graced the day before emblazoned across its sides. Ignoring the blatant rudeness, he focused on a spot directly over Jim's shoulder and stated in his deep, superior-sounding butler voice, "Good afternoon." Without a hint of a smile to his face or an ounce of congratulations to his tone, he added, "I understand felicitations are in order."

Jim stuck his hands in his front pockets, unwilling to reach for the bag. He didn't want to accept it, to acknowledge it, or have anything to do with it or the person who wanted to hand it over to him. "Thanks," he bit out curtly.

The butler swallowed a dramatic sigh at the lackluster greeting and finally deigned to look at the younger man. After shaking the bag, he announced in what should have been a polite tone, "My employer, Mr. Young, has entrusted me to deliver the various items in this bag to you. I believe some of them belong to your new…wife."

Jim heard the implied sneer behind the butler's delivery of the word _wife_. It lit his temper. "Watch it," he suggested hotly, his eyes beginning to glow with the light of a furious flame. No one insulted his Trixie…and certainly not in his presence. With hands bunching into tight fists, he fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to punch the pompous look off the butler's smug face. Good, he decided immediately. It would feel damn good.

As if on cue, the butler's lips turned up. Slightly. His apology didn't contain an ounce of contriteness to it. It was more of a cleverly disguised slur that didn't fool Jim for a moment. "Please, Mr. Hart. I heartily ask you to accept my most abject apologies. I truly did not mean any harm or disrespect to you or to your lovely wife."

Jim didn't nod, smile, or make a move to accept the apology. He didn't do anything to help the butler along with his mission, either. Instead, he pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossed them over his chest and stared at the older man with a stony expression on his face, determined to wait him out. As far as he was concerned, the unfriendly and condescending man could rot in hell for all he cared, along with the damn bag he held in his hands.

After an excruciatingly long sixty seconds, the butler reluctantly gave up. With another overly dramatic sigh, one designed to show his impatience and dissatisfaction with the situation, he thrust the bag out yet again, where it dangled almost mockingly from his hands. "I'd advise you to accept it, Mr. Hart. The quicker, the better. As you already know from our meeting yesterday, I am not allowed to leave your presence until you accept it."

One side of his upper lip curled up. "Delightful," Jim remarked derisively. Still, he didn't make a move to take the bag.

The butler arched one lone eyebrow. Since depositing the bag was his current assignment, he unbent enough to ask stiffly, "Would it help you make your decision if I explained what was in the bag?" When Jim didn't respond, only continued to look out at him through the coldest, most disinterested eyes the butler had ever had the displeasure of encountering before, he was forced to add, "I know with certainty that your wife's personal belongings from her shopping trip are inside. Your marriage certificate is also here, inside this manila envelope. Mr. Carmichael delivered it personally to Mr. Young earlier this morning. However, Mr. Young did not explain everything to me. I do know that he put in a few surprises for you, though." He spoke the next words as if they were a challenge. "He expects you to like them."

"I don't want a damn thing from either of you," Jim growled out, exasperated with the entire situation.

"Doesn't matter," the butler countered again in his stilted voice. "Mr. Young wishes you to have it. Therefore, it is my job to see that you take it." He offered it over for a third time and looked straight at Jim. "Take it, Mr. Hart, and take it now. I will not leave until you do."

An internal battle waged inside Jim. While the thought of making the stuffy butler stand outside the door for the next few hours certainly appealed to him, he realized it wasn't the soundest of ideas, not with Dan currently hiding inside the suite. Plus Trixie or any one of her fellow agents could come through the connecting door at any given moment. Needless to say, the butler shouldn't witness something like that. Despising the fact that he was giving up and that the butler was going to win, Jim halfheartedly snatched the bag away. He didn't offer a word of thanks, only a small grunt, and didn't look inside to peruse the contents.

"There, now. That wasn't so hard, was it?" the butler remarked condescendingly. He looked down his long, straight nose at Jim, pleased to have come out the victor while an air of smug superiority sat upon his shoulders.

Uncaring that it was incredibly impolite, Jim gave the butler his back and closed the door in his mocking face. Hard. The ends of his lips pulled up in a satisfied, sardonic smirk as he took great pleasure in throwing the locks. Again, with much more force than was necessary but he wanted the man on the other side to hear them. Pleased that his point had been made, hoping that he'd never have to face that odious and obnoxious butler again, Jim carried the bag into the living room, unwillingly curious about the items it contained.

Dan waited as long as he could before reappearing. After having the pleasure of listening in on every single word the two had been exchanged, his admiration for Jim rose. He couldn't believe the redhead with the famous temper hadn't punched the detestable and insufferable underling of Mr. Young's. Somehow, he doubted if he would have been able to show the same restraint. Sauntering his way into the room, hoping to defuse any remaining waves of anger from his friend, he approached Jim and inquired loudly, "What'cha got there?"

Not surprised by Dan's reappearance, Jim took a deep breath before answering evenly, "I don't know. Let's find out." Reaching in, he pulled out the large, sealed manila envelope first. One quick flick and a marriage certificate belonging to Beatrix B. Johnson and James W. Hart slipped out. He stared down at it, transfixed, while a small, wispy sort of a wish slipped into his mind, one he couldn't ignore or hide. Why couldn't it say their true names?

"Ah. The infamous marriage certificate." Dan saw quite clearly. He chanced a glance at Jim, catalogued each and every one of his friend's movements. Unnaturally quiet; amazingly still; unable to tear his gaze away from the paper. Oh, yeah. It was clear. Abundantly so. Jim wanted the certificate to be real. Although it went against his natural instincts, Dan chose not to be an agitator. Instead, he dropped a supportive hand on Jim's shoulder.

Having forgotten that Dan was there, Jim lifted his head, startled into revealing the simple truth. He couldn't help it; it was written all over his face. Turning red, Jim gave a small cough, quickly slid the certificate back inside the envelope, and hurriedly started pawing through the rest of the contents in the bag, anything to turn Dan's attention away from the certificate. "Ahh…" he started before clearing his throat.

Dan nodded once in acknowledgement, letting Jim off the hook. "What else is there? Anything interesting?"

Jim hid his surprise when he came across two things that were clearly not articles of clothing. One item he instantly recognized. The other one he couldn't hazard a guess until it was opened. He apologized inwardly for the little white lie. "Nah. It looks like the rest of the stuff belongs to Trixie."

He peered over Jim's shoulder, trying to get a good peek at what else was inside the bag. All he could see was something folded and black, which he correctly identified as Trixie's tank top from the day before. Interest waned quickly. "Clothes," he noted with a disappointed frown. He'd been hoping for something more interesting than clothes and a marriage certificate. "Nothing else?" he asked hopefully.

There was a box, gift-wrapped and tied with a bow, as well as an item he correctly identified as a digital camera hidden at the bottom of the bag, beneath the clothes. The camera had to be the one Ginny Young used the evening before to take their pictures with, before, during and after the ceremony. After all, she'd promised to give it to them. He was never letting Dan get a close look at any of the digital shots. Dan would never let the two of them live it down. As for the box…Jim shrugged his shoulders and lied again without a qualm. "Yeah. Just her clothes."

For once, Dan took it at face value. Not wanting to look at any of Trixie's unmentionables, he flopped down onto the comfortable recliner and pulled back the lever, which promptly put him in the most comfortable, relaxed position possible. He picked up the remote, aimed it at the large television set, and brought his other hand up to rest behind his head, a portrait of pure, relaxed negligence. "Man, it's been a very boring day so far," he complained as he started flicking through the hundreds of channels the satellite service offered the hotel guests. "I was hoping that bag of yours was going to spice things up a bit."

Boring? The very last word he'd use to describe his day. With images of the way he'd spent a good portion of the morning, tangled up with Trixie in the most pleasurable of ways, haunting him; Jim clutched the handles of the bag until his knuckles turned white. Satisfied he'd regained control over his voice again, he said, "Sorry about that, old man. I'm going to drop this stuff off in the bedroom. I'll be back out in a moment. Try not to expire from all the boredom while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best." Dan settled back against the comfortable leather and gave one long, lazy stretch. Eyes firmly glued on the large screen, he waved Jim away and discarded channel after uninteresting channel until finally settling on an old action movie from the '80's. Arnold Schwarzenegger at his best. He let out a long, low whistle of male approval, a wide grin on his face, delighted with his choice. Lots of things were going to get blown up. The only thing missing was…food. Thankful for the advent of live TV, he paused the movie, pushed back the lever and meandered his way towards the kitchen, hoping to find something to appease his appetite.

Hearing the sounds of footsteps in the hallway, Jim came to an abrupt halt. He threw a glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to find Dan following him since it seemed that Dan's main purpose on this earth was to do whatever the hell he could to irritate him. He let out a relieved breath when his friend cheerfully whistled his way off towards the opposite direction, well away from him. Quickly, and before Dan changed his mind, he picked up the pace and raced off into the bedroom where he'd have a small window of opportunity for some privacy.

After taking a moment to appreciate the delightfully rumpled blankets, evidence from their extremely sensuous and strenuous night, he reverently placed the envelope containing the marriage certificate on the long, ornate dresser. There was no need to look over it again. He already knew what was inside. Then he walked over to the unmade bed and dumped the rest of the items out on top of it. As he was already aware, most of them were made of fabric and came in Trixie's size. He set her old purse aside, smoothed a hand over her tank top. The Playboy Bunny insignia filled him with a series of deep chuckles. Such an unusual thing for her to have worn. He lifted his head, looked in the direction of the closet, and arched an appreciative eyebrow. He seriously doubted he'd ever see her in clothes like those once they left Vegas. No sooner had the thought formed when a quick shaft of melancholy shot through him, straight and deadly accurate. Unwilling to consider what would happen once the mission was finished, and in which direction the two of them would go, he went with the only course available and ruthlessly ignored it. Although it went totally against his personality, he was more than content to live in the moment, to appreciate all the time he had remaining with her, no matter how much or how little they had left.

No longer as amused as he'd been when he'd first looked at the tank top, he pushed it aside, as well as the rest of her clothes, in a hasty search for the digital camera. Grateful for the privacy the room afforded, he called up the pictures on the memory card. Seventy-eight pictures in all, starting from the first one Ginny Young had snapped before they made it into the private dining room. Their very first kiss of the evening. A satisfied gleam entered his eyes as he looked down at something he'd never been able to see before. Experience, yes. Look at, no. It was him and Trixie, captured in an extremely passionate embrace. Arms wrapped tightly around each other. Eyes closed. Mouths most definitely, and heatedly, engaged. Hell, he loved looking at it.

With a grin flittering complacently across his lips, he paged through each of the pictures, always staring extra-long at every single shot that held Trixie in it. Damn but she was beautiful. And Ginny Young had an amazing eye for photography. She had an uncanny ability to capture the most astonishing moments. He eyed his laptop, which had sat completely forgotten and unused over on the hotel desk for the duration of his vacation. In fact, he couldn't successfully recall the last time he'd turned it on, let alone used it. He almost took the time to download the pictures to it, just so that he'd have them whenever he wanted to look at them. But the next picture that popped up on the screen grabbed him by the throat and wouldn't let go. It left him dazed, dazzled and completely captivated. All he could do was stare. It was a moment from the wedding, his favorite moment, when he slipped the thin gold wedding ring onto her finger. A shaking finger tapped the small screen. Those brilliant blue eyes of her eyes were trained on him. All for him. And he was staring back at her, just as intently, just as purposefully, just as…wondrously. The expression on her face…Dear Lord, the expression on his. His grin was long-gone, had been replaced with full-out astonishment. The only word to describe her was wistful. _Wistful_. Not discomfiture or embarrassment; not regret or resignation. Wistful. In that moment, he knew. He just knew. She'd wanted it to be real… just as much as he'd wanted it to be, too.

The incredible image burned itself into his memory. He wouldn't be able to forget it. He didn't know how long he stared down at it. One minute. Five minutes. Ten. It didn't matter. When he was finally able to tear his gaze away from it, Jim reluctantly shut the camera off and walked over to the desk, where he placed it beside his laptop. He wanted it to be safe. And he wanted to keep it and all the magnificent images it contained. He'd share, but only with Trixie. Looking down, he touched the gold ring on his finger with an awed reverence and allowed himself a luxury he usually didn't. Closing his eyes, he wished.

In serious need of a distraction, he reluctantly turned back to the bed and tried to focus. It was difficult. The primal feelings assaulting him were nearly overpowering. "I felt something else inside that bag. Now where is it?" he mumbled to himself. He set aside a mini-skirt and a wispy swatch of fabric that had served as her bra before noticing the wrapped box hidden underneath. Curious, he picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and muttered a single word, "Interesting."

The box wasn't large. It fit comfortably in his hand. Bright white paper decorated with silver swirls was wrapped around it. A matching jaunty bow that was bigger than the box itself perched on top. A frown settled on his forehead as he perused the name scrawled across the gift-tag. _James Hart._ Baffled, and not in a good way, he plunked himself down on the edge of the bed and carefully inspected the gaily wrapped package. Did he even want to find out what it contained? Indecision eventually lost out to curiosity. Deciding it was now or never, he tugged off the ribbon and hastily tore away the paper. The top was next, which he gave a careless toss with a flick of his wrist. It landed with the ripped paper on the floor at his feet. A folded note lay on top of whatever item was inside the box. Taking a deep breath, unsure of what he would find, Jim reluctantly took it out and unfolded it. Narrowed eyes quickly skimmed the contents.

_Hart, (the note ran)_

_Here's your wedding gift. I hope it gives you as much pleasure as the spa day gave your wife. Wear it with pride._

_Eric Young_

He read the short note once again before crumpling it up into a tiny ball and throwing it over his shoulder without a moment's regret. With his frown now resembling more of a glower, he looked back into the box and bared his teeth at the object inside. A silver watch, expensive and made by the time-honored name of Rolex, gleamed back at him. "Yeah. I don't think so," he grumbled derisively after eyeing up the item. Without a second thought, he flipped the half-opened box over his shoulder, too. It landed with a muffled thud on the floor, in the corner of the room where he'd never have to look at it again. There was no way he was going to accept any sort of a gift from that man. He'd be damned before he'd wear one.

Satisfied with his decision, Jim stood up. The wrapping paper made a crinkling noise underneath his feet. Cursing his neat streak, grumbling the entire time, he balled up the wrapping paper and the bow and threw them with more force than necessary into the waste basket. The watch he left where it was; in the box, on the floor, and far away from him. Out of sight; out of mind. Then he competently began folding Trixie's clothes. He put them on top of the dresser, along with her empty purse.

Once he was finished with his self-appointed chores, he headed out of the room. By his calculations, it had been at least forty-five minutes since Trixie had been called over to Max's suite. Definitely enough time for the meeting to have been concluded. He nodded his head, hoping that his deductions were correct, and walked out into the hallway. He took the time to close the bedroom door while he thought about what he wanted to do when he saw her again. Talk to her, yes. Bring her back to the bedroom, most definitely. Show her the pictures so he could witness her reaction when she saw them…without a doubt. Mainly, he just wanted to see her again. And soon. With a small smile, he turned and started loping down the hallway.


	31. Chapter 31

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty-One

With Max's recent words creating an uncomfortable ringing in her ears, Trixie poked her nose into the kitchen, in desperate need of both coffee and privacy, and not necessarily in that order. She found immediate disappointment. A few precious moments of solitude wasn't going to be easy to find in the suite. Not that that realization should have surprised her, she realized with an inner groan of frustration directed entirely at herself. Dan wasn't allowed to leave either of the suites and Jim…well, she knew he wouldn't be going anywhere without her. That part suited her just fine. Fed up with herself, she employed a sarcastic roll her eyes at her jumbled thoughts, and made a bee-line for the coffee maker. Along the way she tapped the dark-haired man searching through the cabinets on the shoulder.

Pleased to see her, Dan threw a grin her way. "Hey, Hollywood. I'm looking for…ah, here it is!" Beaming with his success, he turned and triumphantly brandished the brand-new box of microwave popcorn the hotel so thoughtfully supplied their guests with. "I'm about to pop some of this delicious popcorn and watch the rest of a fascinating movie on that gorgeous television in there. Care to join me?"

She couldn't help but smile. Dan was nothing if not endearing. "Popcorn for breakfast," she mumbled under her breath, giving her head a light shake, causing her curls to dance. "Wouldn't Moms be so proud of me?"

Dan swallowed back the sarcastic retort sitting on the tip of his tongue, practically begging to be released. He wasn't so good at keeping it out of his voice. "Popcorn is nutritious," he finally succeeded in saying, his lips threatening to twitch.

Caught in the act of pouring herself a mug of coffee, Trixie glanced up and gifted him with a puzzled look. She wasn't certain what bothered her more: the words he'd actually said or the oddness of the tone he delivered them in. Knowing Dan and his penchant for poking fun at both her and Jim's expense, she figured it was probably a mixture of both. She ended up settling for a small nod but wisely held back a reply, her big blue eyes watching him warily, just waiting for his devilish sense of humor to strike.

He saluted her with the package. After tearing open the box, he threw the bag of popcorn into the microwave and busily punched in the numbers of the microwave, whistling the entire time. Finished with his chore, he leaned back against the counter and idly tossed the box of popcorn from one hand to the other. "How'd your meeting with Max go?"

Trixie ducked her head. She'd rather have had him tease her about Jim instead of inquiring about her meeting. "Fine," she muttered softly and concentrated a little too hard on adding the right amount of sweetener to her coffee. Worse, she didn't look up to see him, was more than content to hide behind the waterfall of curls curtaining off her face from his view. Biting her bottom lip, she continued to look down, hoping, just hoping, that he wouldn't press it.

Normally cool, calm and collected, and certainly never one to drop a pass, Dan ended up missing his next toss. The box landed on the kitchen floor with a small thud, right between his feet. Ever so slowly, he bent down to pick it up, all the while studying her closely. He straightened himself up, stared at the bent head, slouched shoulders, and gave a curt nod. She wouldn't look him in the eyes, seemed more than content to study the dark liquid in her mug. The meeting had definitely not gone well. For clarification purposes only, he offered her one last chance to come clean. "Fine?"

Trixie's single shoulder shrug had defensive written all over it. She quickly crossed over to the refrigerator and took out the carton of milk. An extra large dollop and her coffee was finished. She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. The normally sweet taste she preferred didn't register. She was too focused on Dan. Turning around, she flashed him a bright smile. "Where's Jim?" she asked in much too cheerful of a tone.

"Jim," he repeated slowly. He glanced up at the ceiling and sighed, a long suffering one, and started talking to himself, "Here she is, telling me everything went fine, just fine, and now she's trying to distract me by asking me about Jim, of all people. It's a stupid question, too, since there are only a few places Jim could be inside this suite. It would roughly take three minutes, if that, to find him." Shaking a finger at her, he made small tsking sounds filled with disappointment. Running his free hand through his overly long hair, he grouched aloud, "Little does she know that it's not going to work with me."

"Hello? Mangan, you can stop talking to yourself. I'm right over here," she pointed out with a little too much frustration, a whole lot of exasperation, and employed another shoulder shrug, a dead giveaway.

Delighted with her response, he sent a mocking salute her way and rocked back on his heels. "I know, Hollywood. It's a whole lot more fun to talk to myself and pretend you're not in the room when you're trying to avoiding my questions," he explained playfully, watching her with the intensity of a hawk. When she snapped a hand on her hip, obviously preparing to take him to task, he held his hand up, stopping her before she began. "You should let me finish."

In true Trixie fashion, she didn't follow his suggestion. She interrupted him with a loud snort. "You're amusing, at least. I suppose I've got to give you props for that." Her giggle was laced with nerves and, because she knew the importance of self-preservation and that Dan wouldn't let up until she shared the whole truth with him, which she had absolutely no desire to do at all, she began edging her way towards the doorway. "I think your popcorn's almost ready," she called out three seconds before the microwave let out its ending chimes. When he turned his back on her to check his snack, she made her escape and fled the scene.

"Hmm." Dan sniffed the air and pulled out the bag. "It smells good. You're going to have some…right?" The question rang hollow through the empty room. He gripped the bag and turned the air blue with curses when the steam burned his fingers. After blowing on them to cool them down, he grumbled under his breath, "All right, Hollywood. You can leave the room but you can't hide. The suite's big but it ain't that big." Taking his time, he rummaged through the cabinets again, grabbed a bright pink plastic bowl and poured the white fluffy stuff into it. With absolutely no desire to watch the movie now but unable to resist the lure of the freshly popped popcorn, he tucked the bowl under one arm and started whistling his way through the suite, looking in every doorway he passed for any sign of her.

Aware that running away was useless, especially since there wasn't any place to hide in the suite, Trixie still picked up the pace, not wanting to discuss her less-than-stellar job performance rating with Dan. And Dan, being Dan, wouldn't let go until he had all the facts. Her upper lip pulled back into an ugly sneer. Tenacity. It was one of the many traits the two of them had in common. Normally she respected it. Not today. She couldn't right now, not when it was poised to come right back at her. She touched her tattoo through the soft cotton of her shirt while images of the last time Dan had chipped away at her resolve floated through her mind. She wasn't looking forward to another round. Pausing in the living room doorway, she looked fleetingly at the television screen as Arnold Schwarzenegger was frozen in motion, preparing to drop a thug off a cliff. She almost gave up and waited for Dan. Almost. Then she changed her mind and high-tailed it down the hall. Out of all the rooms in the suite, the bedroom seemed like the best place to hide. There was the slightest chance that Dan wouldn't follow her in there, especially if he thought Jim was in there, too. Maybe. Really, she didn't stand a lick of a chance. But she was damn well going to give it a try.

Too intent on watching out for Dan who would most likely be coming up behind her any second now, Trixie didn't notice the other man standing in front of her until it was too late. In a move reminiscent of her younger adolescent days, she barreled straight into the center of his chest. The breath whooshed out of her. Her coffee mug slipped from her hands, landed with a muffled clunk on the carpet, and spilled the entirety of its caffeinated contents on the expensive and pristine carpeting. Two large, familiar, and extremely competent hands reached out to steady her. Flushing a little, she slowly brought her startled eyes up to his.

"What's the hurry?" Jim wondered playfully. Because she was in his arms, exactly where he wanted her to be, he tightened his grip and tugged her closer to him. It felt unbelievably good to have her near him again. Leaning forward, he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"Noth…nothing," she stuttered out, much like she had done when she was a young teenager and she'd managed to crash into him. Only this time she didn't drop back in mortification. Her arms wound their way around his back, something she'd never have done when they were merely friends, fellow Bob-Whites, co-presidents, and nothing more. Reveling in the feel of being with him, she tilted her head back and gifted him with the sunniest of smiles.

He returned the favor with his lopsided grin and traced the edge of her chin with his thumb. Although he knew he shouldn't, even though he was more than aware that they didn't possess total privacy at the moment, he was powerless to resist. How the hell could he? Not when she was looking up at him like that, with such joy and happiness sparkling within the sapphire depths of her eyes. All for him. Completely forgetting that Dan was also in the suite or that any one of her fellow agents could barge in at any given moment, he leaned down and gently, oh so gently, did what he'd wanted to do since she'd left for her meeting. He took her mouth with his and was instantly rewarded with a soft sigh, which had to be one of the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard in his entire life.

But then a loud humph of disapproval, which was easily becoming one of the most annoying sounds ever created, cut into the mood. Jim lifted his head, lips barred, and growled in the direction of the interruption. "Damn it, Dan. Don't you have someplace else you need to be right now?"

"Nope," Dan answered with an over abundance of good cheer. Enjoying his role as spoilsport for his two friends, he continued whistling and bent down to retrieve Trixie's fallen coffee mug. He stared at the large stain on the once immaculate carpet and wondered at the cleaning bill before placing the mug on the small table beside the broken statue of the magician. "I've got nowhere else to go right now. I'm stuck right here, with you."

Trixie inched her way forward until her forehead was pressed up against Jim's chest. She knew what was about to come next; she just knew it. There was no place for her to hide. And when Jim's suspicions joined Dan's…she started to chew on her lip nervously and ran through her options. Really, there was only one way open for her. She'd have to tell them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about her meeting with Max. It made her hold on tighter to Jim.

"Besides," Dan continued shrewdly, watching Trixie's bent head with interest and imagining that her brain must be working at a furious rate of speed at the moment, "you're going to want to hear about Hollywood's meeting with our good friend Max. Call me crazy but I have an odd feeling something interesting happened when she was over there."

All thoughts of more pleasurable activities fled…well, mostly. He doubted if they'd ever be that far from his mind. But curiosity mixed with worry served as a good battering ram and successfully derailed his rather sensual train of thought. Jim looked down. Placing a finger underneath Trixie's chin, he tilted her head up until he was able to look directly into her eyes. He hesitated before asking, "Trixie?"

He didn't even voice a question. At least, not much of a one, but she was helpless to ignore it. Trixie drew in a deep breath and began with the most imperative part. It made the most sense. It also had the added benefit of being the least embarrassing for her to share. "I was contacted during my meeting with Max. Our meeting for tonight has been finalized."

"Young," Jim muttered in a fiercely harsh voice. He didn't notice the way Dan looked at him strangely, having rarely heard Jim use such a tone during the many years they knew each other. "He called you."

Trixie brushed impatiently at a stray curl, which refused to obey and fell back into place, and explained swiftly, "He wanted to set up a meeting for this evening at the penthouse."

"NO!" Jim vehemently denied, his face turning a vicious shade of red. No way in hell were they ever setting foot in that place again. Never. The emerald of his eyes hardened. After what had happened the last time, it would be a cold day in hell before they'd ever visit that place again. He'd damn well make sure of it.

"Exactly," she agreed immediately and started to run a soothing hand over his back, wanting to erase the tension she could feel mounting there. "You don't have to worry. We're not meeting him up there. I very sweetly requested another place instead. Amazingly enough, he agreed without hesitation so we're going to conduct our last meeting at _The Crown Vic_. It's set for 8:45 and we'll meet in a back room. He wants us to bring the disc. Since he already has our bank account information, he told me he'll transfer the amount we're asking for times two after he has seen the disc and is sure of its authenticity."

"Sounds simple enough." Jim felt the edges of his temper start to drain away and he crushed her to him in a solid hug. "Good work, Trix."

Dan figured love had temporarily blinded Jim to Trixie. There was so very obviously something else going on with her other than settling the final plans for the meeting. He gave a small cough before piping in with, "Come on, Trix. Out with it. That's not all. You can't fool us. What else did you and Max talk about?"

She craned her head, having almost forgotten he was still in the room and swallowed back a defeated sign. As much as it pained her to admit it, Max was dead-on right. She well and truly couldn't see anyone or anything else but Jim when he was in the same room as her. He was all that was important to her. And that was a serious detriment to her job as an agent with the CDA. Without looking at either man, she admitted lowly, "Max suggested that I should be the only one to make the exchange." She closed her eyes, not quite brave enough to witness Jim's reaction. If he'd been furious over the suggestion of meeting at the penthouse, she didn't want to imagine what his reaction would be to Max's suggestion.

Jim's fingertips tightened reflexively on her waist. He pulled her closer, a scowl starting to form. He didn't care if she and her fellow agents were highly trained or that he was not. She wasn't going in without him. "Absolutely not," he hissed out, having no intentions of leaving her alone, especially with Young and his most untrustworthy of sidekicks, Ritch.

"That's what I told him." She opened her eyes. Trixie lifted both her hands, placed them on his forearms. It stunned her to feel how taut they were now, proof that he was every bit as upset over the suggestion from Max as she had been. The words came out swiftly because the need to reassure was too strong. "It wouldn't work. Not now. It's too late in the mission. We have to do it together. We don't have a choice."

Dan popped some popcorn into his mouth, munching away thoughtfully. He ran through the little information he knew so far. So she'd set up the last meeting for some place other than the penthouse and had been told by Max that Jim couldn't come with her. But she'd won the debate and Jim wasn't banned from participating. From her perspective, they were all positives. He pondered everything she'd told them again, believing that it amounted for some of her unwillingness to talk about it with him in the kitchen and out here, but…something told him there had to be something more to it. He snacked on another small handful of popcorn and listened in unashamedly, ready and willing to ask for more pertinent information whenever he felt the need.

Trixie sidled up closer to Jim. "I convinced Max with the truth. It's way too late for us to be divided up now. Separating us wouldn't work. Mr. Young and his wife threw us a wedding last night. There's no way they'd accept having just one of us show up for the final deal the day after the ceremony. They'd think something fishy was going on for sure. "

The initial worry caused by her revelation began to fade, especially when he realized she hadn't been in favor of leaving him behind. It was there in the earnest way she was looking at him, in the firm touch of her hands on him, in the rapid-fire succession of words coming out of her mouth. It was clear. She wanted him with her. She'd fought for him to stay with her. Knowing that made all the difference. As the tautness left, he posed the next question, "How did Max respond to all that?"

She offered a strangled sort of a laugh. "He wasn't exactly ecstatic but he saw my point. Reluctantly, I might add. I also had to remind him that the whole mission had been built on the belief that Mr. Young would prefer working with a couple who were totally committed to each other and that it would be asinine to change the formula now."

He brushed back the curl that always refused to stay put and tenderly tucked it behind her ear. Needing clarification, he half-stated, half-questioned, "So, he knows I'm going to the meeting with you."

She nodded once. "Oh, yes. Not having you there was never an option. Not in my opinion."

Since the two spent the next few seconds staring only at each other, once again completely oblivious to his presence, Dan spoke up, reminding them of the undeniable fact that they were not alone, "Why would Max have ever come up with such an idea to begin with? I joined this party late but it seems to me that a united front between you and Jim is a huge part of your mission. What could possibly have made him want to change it now?"

Trixie slowly turned within the circle of Jim's arms. It galled her to admit it the truth. Of course her face heated. It never failed to at a time like this. "You're right, Dan. You're right. Max suggested making Jim stay back as a last resort, I guess. You see, he hasn't been very happy with me," she murmured quietly, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

Dan's eyebrows shot up as understanding dawned quick and bright. He put the popcorn bowl on the same small table and murmured quietly, "Oh." For once he didn't have any desire to pursue the matter. Much to her chagrin, he was able to connect all the dots far too easily.

It wasn't as easy for Jim. "I don't understand," he said, a hand starting to play with the curling ends of her hair. "You've handled everything that's come our way. Most of it's been pretty unexpected. You've done everything right, Trix."

"No. No. Oh, no. I haven't." Slowly pivoting back around, she waited until she was looking only at Jim. Although it embarrassed her to do it, she began ticking off her shortcomings in a whisper-soft voice. "We're not supposed to let our personal feelings get in the way of any mission. We're not supposed to forget anything. And we're expected to pay close attention to everything around us, to know exactly what is going on at all times." She sucked in a deep breath, inwardly flinching. "I haven't done well here, Jim. I've made a lot of mistakes. Stupid mistakes, right from the very beginning. I should never have talked to you when you approached me in the bar. I should have brushed you off and walked away. As hard as it was to hear it, Max is right. I can't deny it. I've lost my focus."

"Because of me." Jim's words were said, low and fierce.

There was no need to answer. "And that's the reason why he wanted you to stay away from the final meeting," she finished on a rush. "He thought it would help me."

"I'm not going to stay away." He hauled her into his arms, more concerned about her than anything else. He needed to comfort, was desperate to soothe. There was a lot that he knew about Trixie. She'd always hated criticism, of any kind. He wasn't about to let her dwell in any form of self-misery, not if he could do something about it. "I'm sorry I'm distracting you," he whispered into her ear.

She found the apology humorous. Whether it was from either sheer amusement, a much-needed release from all the stress, or simply because she was with him, exactly where she wanted to be, her heart began to feel lighter and the guilt and recrimination she was experiencing at her poor job performance slowly began to dissipate. Shooting him a slanted look through her eyelashes, she teased quietly, "Really, Jim. There's no need to apologize. I happen to enjoy the way you distract me."

At that comment, Dan let out a low exasperated groan that would have made Mart proud. "Good Lord!" he complained loudly. "If you're going to flirt with each other, at least let me know ahead of time. I don't want to hear it. It's bad enough that I have to watch you two together." He gave an exaggerated shudder and, with popcorn bowl once again in hand, started strolling his way back towards the living room and the movie that awaited him. At the moment, he found the couple a little too nauseating for his taste.

Trixie watched Dan go, her mouth gaping open, rather repentant that she'd made him leave. She turned back to Jim. More seriously this time, she added, "I really am sorry. I'm normally much better at my job than I've been showing you this time around."

"Extenuating circumstances. You can blame it on our extenuating circumstances," Jim suggested blandly, flicking back his favorite curl. Draping an arm over her shoulder, he nodded in the direction of the bedroom, ready to table the discussion. As far as he was concerned, there was no further need to poke holes in her self-confidence. She'd had enough. "Come with me, Trix. There's something I want to show you."

"Jim!" she exclaimed, shocked. She dug her feet into the carpet to halt his progress. With a wary look behind her, she inquired breathlessly, "Do you really think that's a wise choice right now?"

"Wise choice? What do you…" And then he understood. Tossing back his head, he let out a loud boom of delighted laughter. When he finally regained control, he declared, "No, Trix, no! That's not what I meant." His eyebrows shot up while he reconsidered her question and its implications. "Although now that you mentioned it, the idea does have a certain merit…"

She hauled off and pushed him in the chest. Hard. "All right, wise guy. What did you want to show me in the bedroom?"

Now that she'd brought it up, a handful of possible, if inappropriate, answers rose to the forefront. Jim reluctantly ignored them. It wasn't the time. "You weren't the only one who was busy. While you were receiving an important phone call, I was getting a special delivery." He could tell the exact second when her insatiable curiosity got the better of her. Hooking a thumb in the direction of the bedroom, he offered again, "Let's go. I'll show you what I got."

Trixie fell into step behind him. As curious as always, she started peppering him with questions right away. "What'd you get? Who delivered your surprise delivery? And what's so special about it, anyway?"

"Hold your horses, Trix. You'll see in a minute." He aimed his lopsided grin her way and opened the bedroom door. He left her in the center of the doorway and walked over to the desk for the marriage certificate. After picking up the envelope, he dropped the biggest clue he could think of, aware of how much she enjoyed figuring out puzzles on her own. "You asked who delivered our surprises to me. I'm sure you'll figure it out quick. Here's your first clue. He's got to be just about the friendliest man we've ever had the pleasure of encountering."

The sarcasm wasn't wasted on her. "Ahh. Mr. Young's butler," she guessed correctly with a sage nod. It made sense. The man would double as Mr. Young's errand boy. Tilting her head to the side, she accepted the large manila envelope from Jim and arched an intrigued eyebrow. "What's this?"

"The first surprise. Go ahead. Open it," he encouraged her. He held his breath, wondering what her reaction was going to be.

She took out the thin piece of paper and skimmed it. "The marriage certificate," she breathed out and traced their names. A yearning immediately speared through her. Instead of pretend, she'd truly love to see their real and actual names on it instead. No such luck, she realized after another perusal and swallowed back her disappointed sigh.

The expression on her face made him ache, made him want. Knowing now wasn't the time to indulge in what he wanted to indulge in, he cleared his throat. "That's not all." He walked over to the desk to retrieve the digital camera, eager to watch her while she thumbed through the digital pictures.

She quickly slipped the paper back inside and closed up the envelope. Needing something to focus on besides last night's wedding ceremony, she zeroed in on the dresser and the neat pile of clothes on top of it. Curious as always, she strolled over and picked up her tank top. She laughed, a nervous little laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "I see they also returned my clothes and my purse from yesterday, too."

"That's not all they returned." With the camera hand, Jim approached her and held it out. "Ginny remembered to send us the camera, too."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, shocked. With Jim's encouragement, she turned the marvel of technology on and began looking through the photos. Exactly as he had done earlier, she stumbled and stopped over the exact same picture. Her eyes quickly made their way back to his. Astonished blue to a turbulent green. "Jim," she breathed out, her chest rising and falling with the power of the picture. It felt like it was forever ingrained in her mind; that magical, mystifiable moment when he slipped the ring on her finger.

He didn't need to know which image she was looking at. With both hands he pushed back her hair, cradled her face, and responded huskily, "I know. Believe me when I say that _I know_." He leaned down, hungry for another taste of her, especially when she was looking at him with such naked longing unmasked in her eyes. Helpless to prevent it, he started the next kiss, only to be interrupted once again by Dan.

"I'm back!" Dan sang out blithely from the doorway, his hands shading his eyes as he averted his gaze from them. "There's no need for anyone in this room to be embarrassed or shocked or uncomfortable or anything like that. I can't see a thing right now. Not a damn thing." His overblown reaction and his extremely loud spoken words plainly told them both that he'd already seen plenty.

Once again, Trixie tucked her head against Jim's chest to hide her flaming cheeks. It wasn't too much of a hardship. She liked being wrapped up in him. It just sucked to have Dan walk in on them. Again. Seriously, it was getting old. "What does he want this time?" she groaned, her words low, muffled and for his ear's only. "Can't we just lock him over in Max's room and be done with it already?"

Jim rested his chin on the top of her bent head and chuckled. With the taste of her still tantalizing him, he pressed her closer. "Dan…" he began, only to be cut off.

"Sorry, sorry," Dan apologized, not sounding contrite in the least. Staring at the two, obviously proud at interrupting what he'd just interrupted, he explained brightly, "I wanted to bring you up-to-date on another pressing issue of ours. You see, I braved my cell phone and found out something interesting. You'll find this hard to believe. I know I did." He pitched his voice lower. "I had ten texts from one extremely irate female, as well as five missed calls. If you check your cells, I'll bet you'll find the same thing. Anyway, I sent her back another text that will hopefully calm her ruffled feathers. At least, for a little while. Then, of course, I turned my cell off again. I have no desire to communicate with her until this whole ordeal is over and done with." He finished with another shudder. A ticked-off Honey Wheeler Belden was never fun to communicate with. Judging from the texts and the voice mails, she was moving from seriously ticked-off to the next phase, which was even scarier than the first.

"You came back here to tell us all that?" Jim asked incredulously, surprise and vexation mixed together on his face.

Dan tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, a large, self-satisfied smile wreathing his handsome face. "Well, yeah. I thought it was important. Plus I thought maybe, just maybe, you two might need a reminder that there are others out here in the suite. You know. Just in case you forgot," he finished with feigned helpfulness, concentrating on the redhead in the room since he didn't find as much enjoyment in teasing Trixie. As far as he was concerned, she suffered enough under the silver tongue of her almost-twin and his best friend.

Jim swore lightly under his breath while Trixie burrowed her face further against his chest. He ran a hand over her riotous curls, unsure if he was trying to comfort her or himself at the moment, and grouched, "I'll be happy when you're back with your agency and out of our hair."

In the spirit of the day, Dan let the sarcasm roll off him. He'd known he was going to interrupt something when he walked in the room. He just knew that it was better to interrupt now, while they were at the very beginning stages, than it would be to interrupt later…and it was much better for him to do the interrupting than someone else, especially after what Trixie had recently shared with them. Max didn't need any more evidence supporting his evaluation of her job performance. Unfortunately, he had plenty enough as it was. "I also have a suggestion for you two. Since the bedroom seems to be too much of a….ah…" He paused and intentionally took a long time to come up with the right word. With a strain of hilarity, he continued, his lips twitching and dark eyes dancing, "Temptation for you, maybe, just maybe, you'd both rather hang out somewhere else. You know, somewhere a great deal more public and a lot less private. Just until it's time to get ready for the final deal." Pleased with his suggestion, he inquired innocently, "What do you think about that?"

Because the idea sounded better than he'd like it to be, Jim didn't take offense. He grudgingly agreed, "Leave us alone. We'll be out in a minute."

And because he knew the two of them extremely well, Dan tapped his watch, needing to make a serious impression on them. "Two. I'll give you two minutes. I'm timing you, Jim," he called back as he faded away from the doorway, an entirely too cheerful whistle floating back to them.

Jim was left staring at the empty doorway with an embarrassed blonde in his arms. He didn't have to look at her to know that she was mortified to have been caught by Dan…again, and in the span of about fifteen minutes. "That tears it. Someday I'm going to have to even the score with him," he muttered morosely and tightened his hold on her.

"Tell me about it. I'll be glad to help," came a very quiet voice. Taking a deep breath, she finally lifted her head from the safety of Jim's chest. "I don't know how the other agents put up with him."

"Yeah, well, we're not going to have to worry about having him around too much longer." He couldn't resist. He tugged gently on the curl that fell over her forehead. Aiming his trademark lopsided grin her way, he shared, "Tonight's the night. Our mission's nearly finished."

Trixie loved the way he added _our_ to it. While the mission was seriously screwed up, and had been since the very moment she'd run across Jim in the bar below, having him claim it as his own made it all worthwhile. Risking it, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss that was supposed to be swift and easy but quickly turned into something else against his lips. Whispering as the need that was beginning to prove unquenchable began to build up yet again, she murmured hoarsely, "Maybe we should…"

"Head back out there before Dan decides to return, most likely with a whole battalion of reinforcements," Jim finished for her, out of breath and very, very, very tempted to throw caution to the wind. Judging from the depths of desire swirling within the sapphire blue of her eyes, he recognized that she was equally as tempted. Before he could give in, he reluctantly grabbed her hand and began pulling her towards the door. There was always later, he thought with a contemplative glance towards the bed. Always.


	32. Chapter 32

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Thirty-Two

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Trixie strolled into the living room, ready for the evening. Her camisole was a soft peach with two pencil thin straps on each shoulder holding it up. It was paired with a long, willowy skirt in a shade of deep brown. It looked demure until she started moving. Then the countless slashes to the material were revealed, allowing a good portion of leg to be shown with every single step she took. Her shoes were once again high heels, which she privately termed stupid and useless, but they added definition to her legs and a few extra inches of height to her petite frame. Probably because she was sick and tired of dressing up, she'd gone light on the make-up and hadn't bothered to do much with her hair other than drag a brush through it, leaving her curls to cascade down her back. She gave it a careless toss and frowned down at her scattered items on the table, disappointed with herself that she hadn't remembered to pick them up earlier. Sighing, hating the indisputable fact that Max was most definitely correct, she grabbed her purse, the new ivory one that Ginny Young had thoughtfully gifted her with the day before. She began with the cosmetics case first and checked to make sure that the all-important disc was inside before dropping it inside her purse.

As she was starting to collect the rest of her things, a small noise caught her attention. Quiet feet on a soft carpet. Distracted from her chore, she knew who it was even before she looked up. Jim. Her smile was tentative. He hadn't been overly ecstatic with the slight change in the evening's plans. He'd been rather vocal about it, too. He didn't like the fact that she was going down alone. Without him. Breathing in deeply, she shared lowly, watching him more intently than he realized, "Ginny is supposed to be here any minute now."

"I still don't know why you have to go down to the bar so damn early," Jim grumbled as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking petulant. He didn't care that he was ever so close to resembling pouting. She was leaving. On her own. And he wasn't in favor of it.

The tentativeness left her. Her lips tilted up further, a genuine smile, while she gamely swallowed down a giggle. Finding him adorable, she sauntered her way over and waited until she was right in front of him. Reaching out, she ran a long fingernail down the center of his shirt and tried her hand at appeasing, her eyes sparkling with barely suppressed humor. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm only going down an hour earlier," she explained for what felt like the hundredth time. Ginny Young had called late in the afternoon to invite her out for cocktails. Ladies' hour, she had termed it. As much as she would have liked to, Trixie hadn't been able to refuse the offer. Not yet, not until the deal was done. Trying to stop a sudden onslaught of giggles, and failing miserably, she suggested playfully, "You could come with me now, if you'd like."

"I wasn't invited," he muttered grumpily with a frown, tempted, very tempted, to take her up on her offer.

"That doesn't matter. You could still come." Trixie's smile was light and easy and touched the pretty blue of her eyes. She slid a hand around his waist, moved in until her hip brushed against his thigh, and had the pleasure of watching the emerald of his own eyes darken. "I wouldn't mind. I doubt if Ginny would care. And, even if she did, does it really matter? At this point, I don't think so."

"Yeah. The mission is almost over." As much as it pained him, he had to agree with Max's assessment on the invitation. It was best to let the ladies spend a little time together. Ginny obviously wanted to spoil Trixie a little more. It wouldn't look right if she skipped out on it or if he crashed it. Plus Max firmly believed there wasn't anything nefarious in the offering. Neither did Trixie. He released a long, low breath and shook his head. At least they still had a few more minutes. Alone. As if of their own accord, his hands started moving. One threaded its way through her bountiful curls. The other rested comfortably on the sweet flare of her hip. He gave a gentle tug, pulled her closer, and had the pleasure of watching her mouth bow open. Now that he once again had the right to touch, there was no way that he could resist.

Trixie's heart thudded once, twice, three times, while his gentle fingers skillfully guided her head into place. Suddenly grateful for the extra height offered by her heels, even if she had to sacrifice comfort to get it, she arched forward, all the way up on her tiptoes; eager, always eager, for a kiss from him. "It won't be for long," she repeated quietly, comfortingly, as his head started to descend. "I promise."

"I know," he whispered against her lips before dipping in for a light sample of her. Finding her taste just as delicious as he'd expected, he cruised along to her ear and nuzzled. Huskily, he admitted, inwardly curious if she understood exactly what he was imparting to her, "I'm finding out that I really don't like being separated from you."

She knew. And understood. The admission thrilled her. Her hand curled into his shirt, bunching the material. She held on tightly. With a determined glint to her eyes, she moved forward until she was pushing him against the wall. When he stared at her, slack-jawed with amazement at her daring, she treated him to a cocky grin. "The feeling's mutual," she admitted seriously before going in for seconds, swiftly and ever so efficiently deepening the kiss.

Jim's eyes popped open before he resolutely closed them. Taken by surprise, he followed her lead, more than delighted with her decision to take charge. Her mouth slashed across his, fierce and demanding, taking as well as giving, and wanting as much from him as he'd ever asked of her. Gathering her closer, he gave his hands free reign. He roamed all over her back and went as low as he could go, appreciating the feel of her through the soft material of her clothes. A low throaty moan filled with need was his reward. Finally, finally, when he couldn't handle it anymore, he took charge and quickly whirled her around. The slashes of her skirt billowed out, wrapped around her legs and his. And then she was the one who had her back against the wall.

"Jim!" The word came out on a high-pitched squeak. Trixie could only stare at him. What she saw took what little breath she had left away. Such intensity, such power, such heat. All directed at her, for her. She pressed her palms against the cool of the wall and, with anticipation riding her hard, waited impatiently for him to make the next move, her chest rising and falling, and the deep promise of passion reflected in her eyes.

Working hard to control his own breathing, he didn't answer, only cocked a lazy half-grin her way, very satisfied with the change in positions. Keeping her trapped within his gaze, he slid a leg between hers. Her head tilted back while a pulse started hammering away at the base of her throat. He catalogued each movement, made her want even more by pulling up the silky smooth material of her camisole and putting his hand on the toned skin of her bare stomach. With her gaze completely focused on him, he prepared to take the kiss into a new level, captured totally in the moment. Forgetting the fact that they were not alone, unmindful that they were supposed to have a visitor at any moment, he went down, farther and farther, until his mouth was a mere whisper of air away from her alluring lips. Their breath mingled.

And then the interruption came. Being a quick learner, Dan treaded heavily down the hallway, practically stomping his way into the living room. He came to a complete and total stop the second he stepped over the threshold. He couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes while a 'why me?' expression flirted painfully across his face. Even better, with all the noise he'd made just to announce his presence, they still hadn't heard him. Exasperated, he complained loudly, his voice cutting through the quiet of the room, "Good God, you two. It was funny the first time I walked in on you. I'll admit it was hysterical the second time. But enough's enough, already. Now it's just getting redundant. Get some control, people."

Probably because she was becoming used to his untimely, unwanted and thoroughly annoying interruptions, Trixie didn't blush. More frustrated than anything, she stayed right where she was, with Jim's leg still between hers, his warm hand still on her stomach, and her arms now resting lightly on his back. She didn't make a single move to move. She was content to stay right where she was, right with Jim. "You don't have to let us know you're there," she suggested, shooting him a slanted look over Jim's shoulder. She dropped her head against Jim's chest, where she found the rapid sound of his heartbeat soothing. "You could always leave the room and pretend you never saw us. We'd never know."

Dan's answer was a mile-wide grin. He rocked back on his heels. Soon deep chuckles filled the air. "Hollywood, now you're being silly. Where would the fun be in that?"

Suddenly realizing he still had a good portion of her stomach on display, Jim hastily dropped the material and smoothed a hand over it, wiping away any possible wrinkles before he ended up playing with the super-thin straps lying across her shoulder. Ignoring Dan, who was still chuckling in the background, he tenderly kissed her on the forehead and drew back enough to look her in the eyes. "You'll be safe tonight, right?"

Smiling up at him, big, bright and beaming, Trixie nodded her head once, willing to promise him just about anything so he wouldn't worry. "Yes. It's just drinks, Jim. We'll be down in the bar, right out in the open where anyone can see us. Nothing's going to happen. You've got my promise."

"Good." Risking another tormenting comment from Dan, he offered her one last kiss. It wasn't as steamy as he'd originally planned it to be. Having someone hooting with laughter tended to prevent it. With eyes only for her, he slipped his hand into hers and took her away from the wall. "And you're right. It is only an hour. Sixty short minutes."

"You can always come down early, too," Trixie murmured, glancing up at him through thick lashes, oblivious to Dan and the great big guffaws of laugher continuing to pour out of him.

It took some serious effort to regain control. It didn't help that Trixie was looking at Jim like she used to, as if he was the only man to ever grace the face of the earth. With his laughter finally subsiding, Dan began watching them more thoughtfully, the most incredulous look crossing his face. Unbelievable. They'd already forgotten he was in the room. He didn't doubt for a moment that if he were to back out, exactly as Trixie had suggested, they'd pick up right where they'd left off, and without any hesitation. Holy hell. He wished the others could be here to witness their former co-presidents in action now. None of them would believe him if he were to tell them, of that he had no doubt. They'd have to see it for themselves to truly believe. Briefly, he wondered if the rest of the Sleepyside contingent would get the chance. He sincerely hoped so. He hadn't seen Trixie this happy or carefree in the longest of times. And Jim…he was obviously enthralled to be in her company and he was relaxed. Relaxed! Would wonders never cease?

When it seemed they'd truly forgotten his presence, and before things got embarrassing again, Dan employed another favored way to gain their attention. He cleared his throat. Three times. And very loudly. It amused him when Trixie blushed ten shades of red this time. "Good luck with your meeting," he said, his dark eyes dancing with wicked delight at how uncomfortable she was now looking.

Trixie ducked her head, unable to stare into his knowing, laughing eyes. She mumbled something incoherent, something that sounded like a garbled 'thank you', and, with an apologetic look towards Jim, hurried over to the table to grab her purse. She quickly stuffed the rest of the items inside, not bothering to take a closer inventory of her things, assuming she had everything with her.

"Getting ready?" Dan couldn't stop the grin, well aware that as a highly trained agent she should have used her time much more wisely than she had chosen to. Obviously, she'd had something more pressing to distract her. "Nothing quite like waiting until the final moment, is there?"

"Oh, shut up, Dan," she snapped, taking the time to aim a killer of a glare his way and doing her best to ignore the resurgence of red in her cheeks. She flipped the snap to close her purse and let it dangle from her fingers, all the while contemplating what it would feel like to smack the smile off of Dan's face with it. One look at Jim told her that he would be one hundred percent behind her; would probably help, too. It restored her good humor. About to say something else, a knock sounded at the door, interrupting her intentions.

Jim lifted his head. He had a pretty good guess who was standing on the other side of the door. "Out," he ordered Dan in a fiercely quiet undertone and shooed him away. He waited until the other man was out of sight before taking a leisurely stroll over to answer the door.

As expected, Ginny Young stood on the opposite side. She was decked out in her favorite color, from head to toe. All pink, from the gems dangling in her ears to the painted nails peeping out through the open-toes of her shoes. She tucked back a strand of her hair that had strips of pink highlighted into it, a sign that she must have visited a salon today, and nodded gracefully to the handsome man answering the door. "Good evening, Mr. Hart."

Jim answered with a small grin of acknowledgement and motioned for her to come into the suite. "It's nice to see you again, Ginny. Thanks for the digital camera." He looked back at Trixie, remembering a few of the amazing shots she'd managed to capture of his girl. His voice rang with sincerity. "You have quite a photographic eye."

"I studied photography in college," Ginny demurred, coloring prettily under the praise. "Once upon a time, I used to have ambitions of becoming a photographer. Then I met Eric. We got married and I decided being a lady of leisure was much more fun." She finished on a tinkling little laugh that ended a little too abruptly after she noticed something was not on his wrist. A strong emotion briefly flittered across her face before she smoothed it away.

"I envy you." Trixie slipped her purse over her shoulder, didn't catch the way Ginny had looked at Jim. Fluttering her eyelashes furiously at him, she suggested flirtatiously, "Maybe, after we complete our deal, do you think I could become a lady of leisure? It sounds like a lovely way to spend the time."

Even though he knew she was play-acting, was totally turning back into her role, he couldn't help but be charmed by her. She looked so damn endearing, with her eyes batting a mile a minute and a winsome smile wreathing her face. It was even more amusing because he knew his Trixie, the true Trixie, would never settle for something like that. He tapped her on the nose. His voice was husky when he said, "We'll see what we can work out."

She giggled again. "Well, until then, I'm off to start practicing right now." She tossed a smile at Ginny. "Ginny here has promised me delicious cocktails and her wonderful company downstairs."

"We're pre-celebrating!" Ginny chimed in, appearing excited. "I don't know what your business is with my husband. In fact, I make it my business not to know, if you know what I mean, but I am aware that you're planning on sealing whatever deal you've got going on with him tonight." She slipped an arm through Trixie's elbow, gave her a gentle tug, and took her away from Jim. "With that in mind, let's start our celebration, Mrs. Hart!"

Trixie tossed an airy kiss towards Jim and headed through the door, arm in arm with Ginny Young, and wishing the entire time that she didn't have to leave. There was something else she'd much rather be doing right now. That something involved her handsome redhead…and only her handsome redhead. With a philosophical shrug, she decided she'd have him all to herself as soon as the deal was over. Her voice was breathy when she murmured, "I'll see you downstairs, Jim."

"8:45," he answered, following the two out in the hallway. He held onto the doorknob. "I'll be there."

"Not a minute too soon!" Ginny shook a playful finger at him. "I'd like to enjoy your wife's pleasant company for awhile, all by myself. We'll see you promptly at quarter to nine. No sooner. Got it?"

Jim lifted an eyebrow and muttered under his breath, "I got it."

Knowing Jim the way she knew him, Trixie expected him to show up at the bar by 8:30 at the very latest. The realization warmed her heart. She turned on her heels and hurried back over. Kissing him lightly on the lips, she stepped back into the hallway where Ginny grabbed her elbow this time. Gaily, she called out as she was once again led away, "'Til then, Jim!" She kept watch until the door closed.

"I've been looking forward to this all afternoon," Ginny announced. Briskly, she led the way to the elevator, never relinquishing her hold on Trixie's arm, which was much firmer than it should have been. "I had a wonderful time with you yesterday, Mrs. Hart. It's nice to recapture a bit of that experience this evening."

"I agree." Smoothly, Trixie side-stepped another guest and stopped in front of the elevators. She sent one last glance back down the hallway.

"Let me just check my texts, if you don't mind. I didn't have a chance to chat with Eric before I left." Ginny reached into her bag, started fumbling with the items inside and pulled out her cell with a triumphant cry. Giving Trixie her back, she intentionally flicked her smaller wallet out and ignored it as it landed with hardly a sound on the thickly carpeted floor.

Ever the helpful one, Trixie stooped down and retrieved the wallet. She completely missed seeing Ginny push the up arrow instead of the down one. "Here, Ginny," she said cheerfully, handing it over.

Ginny accepted it and quickly pulled Trixie into the elevator right after it opened. Just as quickly, she placed herself in front of the control panel, pushed a button for a floor that would take them up, and pinned what she hoped was a normal, easy smile on her face. "Thanks, dear. It was very kind of you."

"No problem." Expecting nothing, Trixie settled back and watched the doors close. Then she felt the elevator shift and start to move up instead of down. _The Crown Vic,_ as she well knew, was definitely on the bottom floor. A small line wrinkled her forehead. "Ginny," she began hesitatingly, looking at the older woman in confusion. "Are we going up?"

"Why, yes. Yes, we are," Ginny replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. Sighing, she flicked back a strand of her blonde hair and lied without a qualm, "Eric asked me to do a favor for him. I was supposed to deliver an important letter to the manager of the bar. I just noticed it wasn't in my purse. Silly me. I must have forgotten it upstairs." She gave Trixie an owl-eyed look, hoping the younger woman couldn't see through her story. "You don't mind going back up to the penthouse with me to get the letter, do you? It will only take a minute. Maybe two at the most."

Oh, hell yes, she minded. The penthouse was the last place she wanted to go. The very last place. Trixie forced herself to stand still, made her mouth curve up in a travesty of a smile. "No, of course not," she fibbed while one hand fisted at her side. A trip to the Youngs' homestead was not part of her plan. She tried to shake off a slight feeling of trepidation but wasn't very successful.

"Good." Ginny nodded her blonde head. Tapping Trixie on the shoulder, she asserted gently, "Really, it won't take too long. All I need to do is get the letter and then we can head back down to the bar. We won't waste much time at all."

Trixie nodded again. She watched the numbers as they counted upwards, all the while wishing she was back in the suite with Jim. It would be so much better to be with him, instead of on the way up to that damn penthouse and the people who resided inside it. She hoped she didn't run into Mr. Young or, she thought with an inward shudder, that horrible Ritch. She listened with half an ear as Ginny carried on the rest of the conversation by herself and tried to come up with a plausible excuse to keep her from entering the penthouse. But nothing came to mind. Chewing on her bottom lip, Trixie jumped when the elevator finally chirped, announcing their arrival.


	33. Chapter 33

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty-Three

Still chatting non-stop, Ginny tossed a look over her shoulder, noting the slower pace of the woman behind her with a concerned frown. She paused and waited for her to catch up, trying to ignore the need to impatiently tap her toes. The second Trixie neared her, she grabbed on and pulled her forward, her fingers curling like unforgiving talons over Trixie's forearm. "Thanks for coming back to the penthouse with me," she gushed when they reached the front door, an odd glint to her eyes that Trixie didn't detect. With lips that wanted to curve into a feline smile filled with satisfaction, she declared, hoping she came over as sounding frustrated and not excited, "I still can't believe I forgot that stupid letter."

Trixie lifted a single shoulder, trying to ignore the unease shivering maliciously up and down her spine. It was silly of her to feel that way. She knew it. But the thought didn't help or alleviate her apprehension. She gripped her purse tighter, briefly wondering what Ginny would do if she jerked her arm out from under her grip. Since it would probably cause the evening to get off to an uncomfortable start, she reluctantly decided against it. Breathing in deeply, breathing out slowly, she finally managed to calm down. After all, she reasoned, they would only be in the penthouse for a few short moments. It shouldn't take Ginny all that long to retrieve that damn letter. And she didn't have to go in any farther than the entrance way. She'd stay as close to the front door as she could. "Don't worry about it," she finally responded after Ginny gifted her with an expectant look.

"Well, I really am sorry about it. Getting the letter back will just take a moment. Then we can head back down to the bar like we planned for those pre-celebratory drinks." Turning so Trixie couldn't see her gloating grin, she rapped sharply on the door. Five quick taps, in rapid succession, the sign they'd worked out so they would know she was successful in her endeavor. The door was opened hardly a second later by the ever-efficient, and, for once, genuinely smiling butler.

"Good evening, Mrs. Young," the butler intoned deeply, bowing lightly at the waist to his employer. Amazingly, his smile grew wider when he noticed their guest. Moving gracefully backwards, he swept his arm graciously to the side to invite both of them inside, and offered a little bow. "I see you are back early. And look at that. You've brought a charming friend, too."

"You're right on both accounts! I am early," Ginny replied with a delighted giggle that carried a hint of cruel humor to it. Her fingers tightened on Trixie. She wasn't letting her quarry get away now. "Plus my friend is very charming."

Trixie pinned what she thought was a smile on her face and tried to look flattered by the attention the two were giving her. She resolutely kept her true feelings hidden. She hated the penthouse; she couldn't stand the butler. She wasn't happy about being here, in this sudden and extremely precarious position. Her feet stayed rooted to the spot. After her recent treatment at the hands of Mr. Young and his henchman, re-entering the place was the very last thing she wanted to do, especially without Jim by her side.

Ginny obeyed the butler's invitation but stopped when Trixie didn't follow. Affecting a puzzled expression, she half-turned and gave Trixie's arm a forceful tug. "Come on in, Mrs. Hart," she cajoled, offering a cheerful wink. "You'll be much more comfortable waiting inside than you would be outside. I won't be but a minute."

Forcing her feet forward took more strength of will than she expected. And Ginny Young's grip was stronger than she'd given her credit for. When the door closed behind her with a soft but threatening click, Trixie barely resisted the urge to cringe. Her fingers tightened around the latch on her purse. At least if it should become necessary, she had her gun.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Pleased, Ginny gave her the widest, toothiest smile she could produce. Facing the butler again, secure in the knowledge that their unsuspecting prey was inside their compound and unable to escape, she explained with a hint of satisfaction to her voice, "I was in such a rush to leave that I forgot the letter. Do you know where my husband left it?" Giggling, she hastily corrected herself, "Or, better yet, do you know where I left it?"

"Hmm." The butler rubbed his chin, in apparent deep thought. "Yes, I do believe I know where it is at. Please, Mrs. Young. Allow me to retrieve it for you." He gave yet another small bow before he left the room, moving smoothly across the carpeting on his perfectly polished shoes. However, his destination wasn't in search of the missing letter. No, he was off to inform his other employer that Ginny's mission had succeeded and that they now had a very special visitor within their midst.

Since her first job was completed, and very successfully, too, Ginny quickly moved onto her second one. Her husband had been very insistent. If she managed to get Trixie into the penthouse, then she needed to keep her there, no matter what. After careful consideration, she decided engaging her in a round of small talk was the best option to keep her off-guard, unsuspicious, and hopefully unaware of her husband's bigger plans. "Caine is such an excellent butler, don't you agree?"

"He truly is one of a kind." Trixie infused as much sincerity into her voice as she could. Personally, she couldn't stand the man. She didn't trust him any further than she could throw him. She found him snobby and condescending. Those were two of his better qualities. Merely for the sake of being polite and carrying on her part of the conversation, she inquired curiously, "Is Caine his first name?"

"Oh, heaven's no. It's his last. To tell you the truth, I'm not even certain what his first name is. He's always been Caine to us." Switching subjects, Ginny pointed to the expensive purse she'd gifted the younger woman with the day before while they were shopping for her wedding dress. She pushed down the twin feelings of both anger and betrayal, furious with herself for putting so much effort into planning the traitorous woman's wedding day. All that effort, all that work, all that money…and all while the couple was planning to double-cross her husband. She nearly vented her frustration but her husband's words came back to her. Get her there. Keep her there. Her explicit instructions. He'd see to the rest. She wasn't about to let her Eric down now. "I see you're enjoying your new purse."

Trixie patted it fondly. "I always like to show off a new acquisition."

"May I see it?" Ginny inquired pleasantly. Mentally patting herself on the back for finding another subject to keep their guest busy, she held out her hands. "I'd like to take a closer look at it, if you don't mind. I'm thinking about heading back to the shop tomorrow and purchasing one of these for myself. Maybe in every single color I can find!"

Trixie handed over the purse with only the slightest misgiving. It would have been rude to deny the request. "It really is a nice purse. Thank you," she demurred quietly, already wanting it back.

"I enjoy giving gifts. But I love it when the recipient is so thankful and considerate. It was thoughtful of you to use it tonight. It shows me that you appreciate it." Ginny turned it over in her hand, closely examining the detailing on the latch. When she was finished, she didn't offer it back. Since her husband had mentioned in passing that he'd like to gain possession of anything their guest brought into the penthouse with her, she was going to hold onto the purse. Because she found enjoyment in poking at Trixie, she released a deep, dramatic sigh and murmured, "It's a shame that your husband doesn't feel the same way."

Glancing around the entry way, wishing Ginny would hand her back the purse, Trixie couldn't help but wonder what was taking the butler so damn long. By her calculations, he'd been gone for at least five minutes. That was four minutes too long for her. The desire to get the hell out of the penthouse started to mount, was already threatening to suffocate. Choosing to stay in her spot, feeling much more comfortable with her back close to a wall and her body only a short sprint away from the closed front door, Trixie ran a nervous finger along the curved wood of a long, gleaming table. Because she was only listening with half an ear, she didn't completely understand the statement. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

A special gleam entered her eyes. It was going to be so much fun to taunt and to tease. It was even better because her victim didn't even realize she was being taunted or teased. Not yet. With a secret smirk twisting the very ends of her well-lipsticked lips, Ginny watched her intently. Eager to see her reaction, she shared after another sigh, "I saw it when I was in your suite. Your husband wasn't wearing the watch my Eric gave him."

"Watch? When did he give him a watch?" Trixie tilted her head to the side, confused, and unable to recall when such an event could have had happened. It hadn't happened before the surprise wedding ceremony. It definitely hadn't happened during the small reception. And afterwards…no, most certainly not then, either. A small frown furrowed her forehead. Puzzled, she added, "I don't seem to recall Jim receiving a present of any kind."

"Other than gaining you as his wife, of course," she joked with a small, cackling laugh that Trixie found increasingly annoying. Ginny circled her way around the entrance way until she was closer to the front door and, as unobtrusively as possible, leaned back against. Her husband had joined them, was watching them quietly from the shadows of the living room, avid enjoyment smeared across his face. When he gave his nod of encouragement, she continued, hardly able to contain her glee, "My husband had the watch delivered to him today, along with the digital camera, your clothes and please forgive me for saying this although it really is the truth, your old, rather tacky and definitely out of style, purse."

"I didn't know that," Trixie mumbled, unable to recall seeing anything that hinted of a present in their suite. Jim would never wear a gift from Mr. Young, of that she had no doubt. In fact, he wouldn't even acknowledge one. He'd most likely throw it away. To his mind, that would have been the last of it…which would by why if he had received one he hadn't shared it with her. But Ginny clearly believed he'd been given one. And she'd most likely know. Her eyes flared slightly, the only sign of a serious sense of foreboding. She murmured consolingly, wanting to soothe Ginny's obviously rumpled feathers, "I'm sure he appreciated the gift, though. He'll tell Mr. Young so when we met him downstairs."

"Eric will appreciate the thanks," Ginny replied and arched her head. "Oh! I think I hear Caine now." She whirled around when the butler came back into view.

"I found the letter, Mrs. Young. It had been left on the kitchen table." He offered the folded piece of paper over and nodded after she accepted it.

"Oh! My goodness. How forgetful of me. I made a small cup of tea before going downstairs to greet our lovely guest. Thank you, Caine." She slipped the letter into her purse. Because it was time, she called out to her husband, taking great pleasure in letting the cat out of the bag, and darkly delighted that she was going to be able to view Trixie's reaction. "Eric, if I've done everything you needed me to, I'll be glad to step outside for the rest of the evening and leave you with your..." She halted, looked at Trixie through frigidly frosty eyes. "Guest here," she finished on a sneer.

Feeling like a hare who'd just been captured in a hidden trap, Trixie took a wide step away from the gathered group, a hand pressed over her gaping mouth. A sneering Ginny. A smiling butler. And now a smirking Mr. Young. Oh, yeah. She was in trouble. Serious trouble. All the while the facts as she knew them raced through her mind. First, and most damning of all, she had been maneuvered into enemy territory, the penthouse, where she very clearly didn't want to be. Secondly, Jim had received a gift from Mr. Young, one she hadn't known about, and one that to her knowledge hadn't been scanned. In fact, nothing in the gift bag had been scanned. Not her clothes, her old purse, or the digital camera. Yet another sign that she was slipping. She'd have to muddle through her current situation and, somehow, come out the victor. Damn it. She should have scanned the contents with her cell.

All color drained from her face. Dear Lord. _Her cell_! She searched her mind, in a vain attempt to recall if she'd placed that particular item in her purse. She stared at the purse, which was still clutched in Ginny Young's fingers, and knew, just knew, that it wasn't inside. "Hello, Mr. Young," she greeted him as nonchalantly as she could manage. The only avenue left for her was to play dumb and play it as long as she could.

"Mrs. Hart." He nodded stiffly. With a little two-fingered wave, he motioned for their fourth to get into place.

She couldn't miss Ritch as he appeared from behind Mr. Young and swaggered around the perimeter of the room, to position himself next to Ginny, right in front of the door. His smile was the most sinister of all. Yeah, this wasn't good. She was effectively trapped. She also couldn't help but notice that Mr. Young called her by her last name again, a tactic he'd employed during the last time she'd been in the penthouse. She inclined her head to the side and declared sweetly, pretending not to notice anything was amiss, all while her heart rate started to seriously increase in tempo, "How lovely to see you now, Mr. Young. I wasn't expecting you to show up until later, when we're scheduled to complete our transaction."

Since her replacement was in place, Ginny left her post by the door, to sidle up next to her husband and to present a unified front to their 'guest'. He responded by draping an arm around his wife's shoulder and cuddling her against him, an obviously unified duo. "Plans change," was his short, clipped and extremely unfriendly answer. Rudely giving Trixie his back, he pressed a kiss to Ginny's forehead, pleased with her success. "You were marvelous, darling. Simply marvelous. Thank you for bringing her up here."

Ginny preened under his praise. "You are most welcome." She stood on her tip-toes to kiss him back. Quite soundly, too. Giggling, she dropped back on her heels and, sending an affronted glare towards their guest, admitted loudly for all to hear, "It was an absolute joy."

Her mind exploded with a string of loud curse words. Every avenue of escape was taken from her. Ritch was at the door. Mr. Young was directly in front of her, with his sidekick of a wife at his side. And the butler was in the doorway leading into the penthouse, not that she'd consider escaping into that direction. Even better, she had no way of getting in contact with Max because she'd forgotten her damn cell phone. She truly was on her own. No one would even know something serious was amiss because she'd requested her back-up team to stay behind, to stay and watch over Jim. Her hand flexed against her side while different possible scenarios raced through her mind. She ended up discarding them all. Nothing but meeting Mr. Young full-on was the way to go.

"I also have another present for you, darling." Satisfied with the situation, Ginny handed over the ivory purse.

"Thank you, my gorgeous Ginny. You are truly one in a million." Mr. Young quickly rooted through it. When he didn't find anything that looked suspicious, he tucked the purse under his armpit like it was a prized football.

She flushed a vivid pink, tickled by the way her husband was looking at her. With her role now finished, she was eager to let him get on with his evening. The next stage didn't involve her at all. She was to exit stage left, promptly. "I'll be back later…Much later, darling," she clarified for her husband's sake, letting him know he had all the time in the world to conduct whatever business it was that he needed conducting. She wouldn't interfere, either. To her, the matter was finished and Beatrix Johnson Hart and her husband were now nonentities. "I'm sure Mrs. Hart will be marvelous company for you."

Pretending she didn't understand the seriousness of her new circumstances, Trixie let her mouth drop open. "But we're…" she began, only to be silenced by an authoritative wave of Mr. Young's hand.

"The plans have changed." He paraphrased his earlier words, delivering them in a clipped, unfriendly tone of voice. His lips curved with a mixture of both amusement and threat, a chilling and disturbing mix that caused shivers to dash up and down Trixie's spine. "Since you appear to need an explanation, I'll be glad to clarify them for you. My dear Ginny will be leaving. You, Mrs. Hart, will be staying. Here."

"If it's all the same to you, I don't think I really want to be here right now," Trixie objected with a faint little laugh, her eyes darting from side to side. Fearful. She had to appear fearful. It was what they'd expect of her.

"Of course you don't," Mr. Young chuckled, shaking a mocking finger in her front of her surprised face. "You'd much rather be enjoying a cocktail or two with my precious Ginny down in the bar." He slipped an arm around his wife's shoulder and squeezed her to him. "Who wouldn't? My wife is a gem, a one of a kind. I couldn't get along without her."

"Thank you again, darling." Ginny practically purred at her husband before turning to pin Trixie with the unfriendliest of gazes imaginable. "However, I most assuredly do not wish to share a cocktail or anything else with you anymore. You will stay here. You need to clear a few things up with my husband. He'll decide what's to become of you afterwards."

Trixie bumped into the long table behind her, appearing scared while she catalogued everyone's position in the room. She didn't want to lose sight of anyone, especially Ritch and his frightening penchant for electro-shock weapons. She'd had enough of that one already. Satisfied she had everyone accounted for and well within her sights, she wondered aloud, infusing her voice with as much confusion as she could manage, "I'm so puzzled. I really don't understand any of this. Why are you being so rude, Ginny? And why do I have to stay here?" She stopped to clear her throat. With eyes sparkling with worried tears, she added, sounding choked up and alone, "What…what's going on?"

"Renegotiating, plain and simple," Mr. Young answered curtly. He didn't offer any further explanation. She'd find out soon enough. Turning to Ginny, he kissed her and then playfully swatted her ample behind, causing her to giggle and blush like a young school girl. "Go, darling, go. Have a wonderful time."

"I will!" Ginny tossed back a saucy air kiss. Totally ignoring Trixie, who she truly felt was beneath her notice now, she sauntered her way towards the door, having not one single ounce of sympathy for the younger woman. In her mind she deserved it for attempting to deceive her husband. "Take all the time you need!" she called out merrily. "I won't be back until MUCH later."

"Don't worry. I will." He pressed two fingers to his lips and returned her kiss with one of his own and waved as she breezed through the door.

The butler inclined his head to the side. In his cultured voice, he inquired, "Do you require any more of me this evening, sir?"

"Not tonight," Mr. Young answered cheerfully, in a remarkably good mood. He always loved a good interrogation. "Enjoy your evening, Caine. We'll see you back at your post tomorrow morning. _Late _in the morning," he emphasized with a deep, jolly laugh. He waved the butler off and watched as Ritch closed the door behind him.

Then the room fell silent. Completely, totally, shockingly silent. Only three people remained. Trixie pressed both hands against her thighs while differing thoughts clambered through her mind. One thing, and one thing only, was for certain. Max was one hundred percent right. She truly had lost her focus during this whole farce of a mission. How the hell had she forgotten her cell? Her weapon was still hidden with the lining of her purse but it was currently in the hands of the enemy. She didn't have any back-up. And now she was going to have to deal with the effects of it all and someway, somehow, come out of this ungodly mess as the victor.

Ritch flicked the lock shut, then threw the deadbolt. The sound rang throughout the sudden quiet room, ominous and threatening. It made Trixie flinch. "We're alone, Mr. Young," he announced suddenly, his loud voice shattering the quiet. "Where would you like to conduct our…ah…business meeting?"

"On the terrace, of course!" Mr. Young replied jovially. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, fast and furious. He could hardly wait to get it started. Whistling, he stepped off to the side and motioned for Trixie to lead the way. "I trust that you remember how to get there, do you not, Mrs. Hart?"

"Yes," she answered in a thin, wobbly voice. Continuing to play the victim for consistency's sake, she wondered aloud, appearing confused and scared, "But I don't understand anything that's going on, Mr. Young. I don't! I just don't get any of this. Why am I here? What's wrong? And why did Ginny leave without me?" Her eyes pleaded with him to answer.

"There's no need to fret, my pet. You'll find out all soon enough." Seriously displeased with her and her husband, Mr. Young snapped his fingers, the cold look to his eyes belying the wide smile adorning his face. "I'd suggest you come along with us."

Trixie breathed in deeply, inwardly bristling at the way he called her _my pet_. No way in hell was she his pet. Then she let it go, realizing it was useless to get angry. She had bigger worries. No one would be coming to help out…at least, not for a while. Jim wasn't supposed to join her in the bar until 8:45. Knowing Jim, he'd definitely show up early. 8:30 was her guess. By the time he figured out she wasn't there and alerted Max, she would have been in the company of Mr. Young for at least a solid half hour. All alone. All by herself. In her line of work, she recognized that a whole lot could happen in thirty minutes.

Staying in character, hoping to eat up as much of the time as she possibly could, she hunched her shoulders and pressed herself against the table, a pitiful show of defiance designed to show she was weak and powerless, not formidable and strong. "I don't want to go inside with you. I want to leave. Now," she tacked on with a forced petulance to her tone.

He let out a loud, annoyed sigh. Prior to the meeting, he'd predicted she would simply and easily fall into line with all of his wishes. He hadn't expected her to show a backbone, albeit a pathetic one. "You can come with us of your own free will or…" Mr. Young glanced at Ritch, who pulled out a device she had a rather painful history with and held it gleefully up. Satisfied they'd made their point, he inquired blithely, deciding he now had the stronger hand, "Is the picture clear enough for you, Mrs. Hart?"

It was. Trixie made a mental note, jotted down who had the weapon and where it was kept. "I do," she mumbled, keeping her head down and attempted to appear defeated and downtrodden.

"So, let's try it again." He bowed at the waist, gestured towards the living room. "Start moving. Now. Ritch here won't have any qualms about using it on you again. Between you and me, I firmly believe he's just waiting for a chance to."

Sucking in a shaky breath, hoping to make them think she was nervous and agitated, Trixie started forward, staying as far away from Ritch as she could. She didn't take notice of the large, opulent and extremely over-decorated living room. Instead, she listened for the footsteps behind her, always aware of how far away Ritch was from her. Having him at her back was nerve-wracking. When Mr. Young glided ahead to open the patio doors, she was the first one out onto the terrace and came to an immediate halt. No lights were on. It was dark, with only the thin light of the moon filtering through the long glass wall.

Following the orders he'd been given, Ritch hung back, content to stay in the background until he was needed. Flashing white teeth, he flicked on two rows of recessed lighting and stood near the terrace doors, exactly where he'd been told to stand. He was to be quiet through the interview, was not to interfere unless he was giving the sign from his employer.

Mr. Young crossed the terrace, ended up near a circular table close to the peaceful, shimmering waters of the pool. "Please, Mrs. Hart, take a seat." He pulled out a chair and looked at her expectantly.

Trixie couldn't help but notice the slight sarcastic bent he used every time he called her by what he thought her name was now. It was there every single time. Mocking, derisive, scornful. Oh, boy, she thought with an inward shudder. The man did not like her or, more accurately, her alter-ego. The knowledge made her senses go on an even higher alert. She carefully perched on the edge of the chair. One good thing about her placement was the fact that she could see Ritch, standing as a guard dog right by the door, and a good ten feet away. "I'm still horribly confused by all of this."

"I'll be glad to enlighten you," Mr. Young replied. Moving away from her, he set her purse down on a nearby table and leaned a hip against it, pleased with the amount of distance between them. He wasn't too far away that he couldn't see every nuance of expression on her face. Yet he wasn't too close, either. He understood his temper. It was a fierce one when it was ignited. Beatrix Johnson Hart and her husband had more than ignited it. Some distance was necessary for him to retain his control. "As you are clearly aware, our plans for the evening have definitely changed."

"All I want to do is give you the disc," Trixie complained haughtily. "And get the money, too, of course."

Mr. Young slapped his hand on the table, his loud laugh booming out through the nearly empty terrace. "You're lying, Mrs. Hart," he accused after his laughter died away, shaking his head at her, with lips curved into an unsightly sneer. "I don't believe you."

"It's true," she insisted, bringing frightened blue eyes towards his. Imploringly, she declared, "The disc and the money. That's it. What's suddenly made it more complicated than that?"

"Ah. Complications. Yes, I see we've reached the heart of the matter." Mr. Young reached down, flipped up the laptop she hadn't noticed sitting on the table next to her and turned the screen towards her. With sham innocence, he suggested, "Maybe you'd like to listen?"

It was getting worse and worse. She had a strong suspicion about what had gone wrong. Now it was just a matter of how bad the situation actually was. She kept her expression as neutral as possible. "Listen? To what?"

"A scene from your bedroom," was his response. He watched her closer, pleased that she appeared to be confused and frightened by the way her evening was turning out and, if he didn't miss his guess, also rather guilty. She was aware. She couldn't hide it from him. She knew what he'd heard.

"My…bedroom?" The last word came out on a high-pitched squeak. She tried to remember what had happened, what had been said, during the past few hours at the suite, especially in her bedroom, but she couldn't, not without one hundred percent certainty. "What do you mean? How could you possibly…"

He held up an authoritative hand, silencing her without words. "I sent your husband a bag this afternoon," he shared, in his element. "In that bag was your marriage certificate from Mr. Carmichael, your clothes, your purse, a digital camera, and…" The pause was intentional. He wanted; no, he needed her to put it together.

"The watch you gave me my husband," Trixie whispered softly, closing her eyes in apparent defeat while her mind continued to whirl at an impressive rate. "I didn't even know you gave him one. He…"

"Never told you. Never wore it," Mr. Young finished for her with a small shrug of his shoulder. "Well, that's gratitude for you, isn't it?" He contemplated the rudeness of the young man before letting the matter drop. In the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter. Much. After all, he'd heard what he'd needed to hear. Plus he had the man's wife, completely at his mercy. A pretty damn good deal, all in all. Leaning forward, he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, "It wasn't just a watch I sent him, you know."

"What do you mean?" she inquired stupidly, all the while cursing herself for not scanning the damn bag and its contents. Hell, she'd never even thought to check over any of the items. She'd been blown away by the images on digital camera. If she had, she would have realized she didn't have her cell phone with her. Then she would have found the bug that must have been attached to the damn watch. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself.

"Before we finalized our deal, I wanted to check in on you two charming newlyweds one last time, just to be certain that all was on the up and up, you understand." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to appear defeated when he was secretly elated. In his mind, he was going to get the disc, keep all his money, make a tidy profit…and deal with two unsavory characters. It didn't get much better than that.

"It is on the 'up and up'," Trixie spoke insistently, letting her eyes fill with confusion. "There's nothing wrong with us. We have nothing to hide. I thought we proved that to you the other night when we answered all your questions. Successfully, I might add."

"Shut up." The order was spoken quietly, lowly, with a great deal of threat behind it. It certainly had the desired results. Pleased when she stopped speaking, delighted when she snapped her head back as if his words had struck her, he went on to explain, a nasty little grin twisting his thin lips, "I put a tiny little listening device on the watch. A small one and, regrettably, I must add, not a terribly good one, either. I have better ones. Unfortunately, I figured I'd be wasting the better quality ones because I was merely checking up on you two, not investigating you. Clearly, my mistake."

Damn, damn, and triple damn. Exactly as she'd feared. Because he clearly expected her to show fear, she wilted against the back of the chair. Her face even cooperated and went pale. But she had to figure out what he'd heard. "Why…why would you want to listen in on me and Jim?"

"I was about to hand over a whole lot of money to you. Twice what you were asking, if you remember correctly. Your own Vegas jackpot." He waved a hand through the air. "I don't generally do something like that without being one hundred percent certain of my contacts. It was merely one last little test for you and Hart. One, I might add, that both of you failed. Wretchedly."

"I simply don't understand any of this. How did we fail?" She tilted her head back, acting totally confused by Mr. Young's revelations. "Please, Mr. Young. You've got to tell me what happened."

"As if you didn't know." His eyes narrowed. A red angry flush started to smear its way across his face. Her innocent act was beginning to rub him raw. "You can stop with the innocent routine, Mrs. Hart. There's no need for it. Listen, my dear, and listen well."

Trixie pressed her sweaty palms to her thighs as he busied himself with the laptop. She strained forward and announced after about ten seconds of silence, "I don't hear anything."

Bright, bright anger flashed in his eyes. "I'd really suggest you keep your mouth shut…unless you'd prefer us to assist you with it."

She wisely did what he suggested. She knew more about Mr. Young now. Agitating him wasn't smart. Neither was proclaiming her innocence. Both seemed to royally tick him off. Her mental ramblings came to a sudden stop. She whipped her head up when something like a crackle came out of the laptop.

"This is a recording I saved. It's your husband opening the gift," Mr. Young explained into the sudden quiet. "As I shared earlier, I regrettably chose not to use the best quality of listening devices. We were only able to catch what happened after he opened the box. The device wasn't strong enough to record any conversation when the watch was inside its package." Or in any other part of their suite, he thought with an inner sigh. He learned his lesson, though. He'd use the best quality next time, no matter how certain he thought he was of the people he was working with.

Trixie curled her hands when she heard Jim's voice, low and full of scorn. "Yeah. I don't think so." After he spoke those words, there were a bunch of small sounds. The box had obviously been tossed aside, most likely in a corner. And then it hit her. What Mr. Young had definitely overheard. She'd been in the bedroom with Jim when he'd showed her the pictures…and Dan, the master of interruptions, had come in. She let out a long, low breath.

Satisfied he'd made his point, Mr. Young paused the recording. If he needed it, he would play more. But he highly doubted he would need it. He'd offered his proof. Now she needed to explain. Simple. "I'll be glad to play more, should it be necessary to prompt your memory," he spoke in a condescending voice towards the silent woman. "But I'd like to see what you'd care to share with me first, of your own free will." Carefully, and in a move definitely meant to intimidate, he pulled out a small gun from his jacket and placed it on the table next to him. Then he removed his expensive jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it over the back of a chair.

Trixie didn't take her eyes off the gun. Another weapon was revealed. She didn't need to look in Ritch's direction to know that he had that damn electro-shock weapon on him somewhere. Plus he'd also have a gun, too, of that she was certain. A sharp scan of the room showed that no one else from Mr. Young's entourage was in the vicinity but she couldn't be sure. She chose to err on the side of caution and imagined that there would have to be at least one or two of Mr. Young's hired goons hanging out there, somewhere, definitely armed and dangerous, too. "I…I…still don't know what you mean," she mumbled.

When angered, Mr. Young moved fast. The slap caught her totally off-guard, made her head snap back from the brutal force of it. A gasp escaped her lips before she could prevent it. She reached up, felt the tender area that seemed to encompass her entire cheek, and ignored the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"I see we understand each other." He looked extra long at her, wanting her to see that he wasn't willing to give her any quarter. He wanted the truth, all of it. Now. Through any force he deemed necessary. "I won't be so gentle next time, Mrs. Hart."

Underneath the table, her hands balled into tight fists. She'd give anything to even the score. She certainly had the knowledge and the experience to do it. There was just one tiny problem. She was currently out-numbered…and definitely out-gunned. Because she didn't have a choice, she went with meek and dropped her head before he could see the sheen of defiance shining out from her eyes, chasing away the tears. She hoped he'd mistake the move for submission.

So damn ecstatic with the way the newest interrogation was going, Mr. Young nodded his head. "All right. Let's try it again. Tell me, Mrs. Hart. And tell me the truth. You know I won't stand for anything less than everything."

He didn't ask a specific question. A good move on his part, she thought while ignoring the continuous ache that enflamed her face. He wanted to see what she would offer up first. Well aware that she was walking an extremely fine line, she cleared her throat and shared in a weak tone, "I…we…well, we haven't been truthful. Exactly."

"Tell me something I don't know." He blew out a small breath, crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned at the red mark taking up residence on her left cheek.

"Most of what we've shared with you is true," she explained hastily, tenderly holding the side of her face. "Most of it. We didn't lie about our jobs or our financial statements or anything like that. We really are in trouble. Serious trouble. And we really needed a windfall to get us out of it."

"Who are you working for?" The question came at her like a bullet from a gun.

"You know we're working for someone?" she posed, hoping the incredulous tone of her voice would make him add a little more information.

"I can't stand betrayers." He watched her dispassionately.

"I know." She wished she'd never accepted the chair. Sitting down put her at a decided disadvantage. "We didn't want to be. We…we didn't have a choice." Two huge, fat tears slipped out of her eyes, cascaded slowly down her cheeks.

Mr. Young watched the descent of the tears. Crocodile tears, he inwardly termed them. She was only crying because she was caught. Stupid woman, he thought. They wouldn't work on him. "Who, Mrs. Hart? Tell me who."

She thought fast and quick. He didn't know about her agency; didn't know that she was the actual agent in the midst. A positive, for sure. But…how could she successfully spin it, without having all the information that he knew? Treading carefully, she went with what she did know, "We were in danger. Financial danger. Close to losing everything. The IRS was breathing down our necks. We cheated a little…all right, a lot on our tax returns and…"

"Ah." Mr. Young interrupted her, starting to see the picture she was weaving for him. "I understand. You and Mr. Hart were approached. Help us out. We help you out. All your money troubles disappear. That type of thing, right?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her affirmative.

She nodded her head dumbly. Damn it all, she didn't have anything on her. Not a thing. And his weapon was too far away. She had a remote chance of beating him to it but…her eyes slowly slid towards Ritch. He'd love any chance to try and take her out. She knew it, could feel it deep within her bones. "Precisely. We were asked to be the go-betweens. Make the offer, sell the disc, and we'd be home-free. Our money problems would disappear. We wouldn't have to face the audit. Our debt would be erased and we could even keep half of the money from the sale of the disc. It sounded like a dream come true to me and Jim. We even got an all-expenses paid vacation in Vegas, too."

"Too bad it's turning into a nightmare," Mr. Young remarked with a chuckle.

She put her hands on the edge of the table, curled them into the rounded edge. "I wish we'd never agreed to it. They made it sound so easy. I never expected it to be as dangerous as this." She let a few more tears slip out, followed by a few quick sobs she quickly swallowed back when Mr. Young's expression seemed to turn even fiercer. Playing on his sympathies wasn't going to work. He didn't have any.

"And you still haven't told me which agency approached you. CIA? FBI? DEA?" He offered the appropriate list, curious about whom it could possibly be.

Grateful he didn't have a clue about her true agency, she went with another option. "NSA," she mumbled, staring down at the ground. "They thought we'd be good at it."

"Well, you weren't." Mr. Young rocked back on his heels, laughing heartily. Trixie flinched when Ritch joined in. "So, the NSA is interested in setting us up," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Trixie glanced up and blinked rapidly. "Do you have everything you need? Is it okay if I go now?"

When she made to stand up, he was there in an instant. His hands landed on both of her shoulders, forcing her back into the chair. For a moment he thought he saw a flash of rebelliousness in her eyes but, if it was there, it was quickly replaced with wet fear. "I don't think you quite comprehend the seriousness of the situation, my dear," he informed her, flicking a finger underneath her chin and enjoying the way she tried to move away from his touch.

"I just want to leave," she mumbled in a weak voice coated with fear. "Please."

"Not yet." He lightly tapped the cheek he'd slapped a few minutes earlier and felt a primitive satisfaction at the way she winced. "You shouldn't have gotten involved with the NSA, Mrs. Hart. They're going to leave you high and dry, you know."

"We didn't have a choice," she murmured, allowing a few more tears to prick her eyes.

"Tears won't work on me," he informed her for the first time. Straightening, with his hands on his hips, he looked down, towering over the petite blonde. He imagined it would be easy enough to crush her, should the opportunity present itself. "It's trite but true. You made your bed, darling. It's got the potential to be an ugly one, too. Now you've got to lie in it."

She threw in a few sniffles for good measure, imagining what she would like to do to him. It wouldn't take long to immobilize him but there was the slight problem of Ritch, as well as any unknowns who may be out there, watching them. "We really didn't have another option," she repeated even though sympathy was something she obviously wasn't going to get from him.

"Like I care." He shrugged off her answer and settled a hip on her table. The move put him within arm's-length of her. He placed one hand on the table; the other he used to smooth over her hair. He appreciated it when she tried to shake his hand off. It didn't work. Slipping his hand to the back of her head, he tilted her head up so he could look right into her eyes. Because he could, he bunched her hair up in one hand and held on. There was something else he needed cleared up. "I've also heard the voice of a third person. It belongs to someone named Dan."

Trixie resisted the urge to jerk away from him. It wouldn't matter, she already knew. He'd just tighten the grip he had on her hair anyway. Going back to the lies Jim had told them about Dan the last time she was in this very room, she admitted in a soft voice, "Dan...he's not my ex. He's part of the agency."

Mr. Young rubbed his chin with his free hand. "Hmm," he muttered to himself. After a minute of quiet contemplation, he decided, "It makes sense. You and Hart referred to him during another conversation as an agent. But he's not the only person you brought up. What about this other man…someone named Max? I heard his name a few times today, too."

"Also part of the agency," she said quickly, interlocking her fingers together when he increased his pressure on her hair. "If that's all, I'd really like to leave now. Please," she tacked on, knowing full well he wouldn't allow it.

"In a moment. Let me think. Let me think. Hmm." Letting go of the ball of hair in his hands, he dropped his grip to her shoulder, where he held on just as firmly. Then he recapped her explanation, "You and your husband were approached by the NSA, offered a way to help with your financial woes, and accepted it. Is that correct?"

She felt his eyes level on her and tried to shrink away from his hated touch. "Yes. It happened just that way," she answered without hesitation.

He gave a curt nod. "And Daniel Regan is an agent with the NSA who happens to be in your suite. Correct?"

Again, she replied without hesitating, "Yes."

"Plus there is an unknown agent." Feeling more and more confident, believing he finally had the truth out of her, he inquired quickly, "What is his name again?"

"Max," she replied immediately.

"Are there any other people involved?" Leaning forward, he eyed her closely, wanting to know the truth. She'd tell him now. He firmly believed it.

"Not to my knowledge but Jim and me…we aren't exactly privy to a lot of the details. We're basically the lackeys here." She shrugged her free shoulder. "We were told to contact you, play along, and make the deal. That's our job. I honestly cannot say if there are more agents involved. I've only ever met Dan and Max." She bit the inside of her mouth, hoping he'd believe her.

Because he firmly saw her as a subordinate, he took her at face value. "That makes four people involved. You're here, so we only have to worry about the other three. And those three people are still in your suite." When she didn't confirm or deny, he bit out again, "Correct?"

"I think so," she mumbled, staring down at her clasped hands.

"Good. Your explanation coincides with what we've heard in your bedroom." Running a hand over his hair, Mr. Young sighed deeply, wishing he'd never desired to buy the disc when the offer came across the table. "Do you know why the NSA is interested in me?"

"They aren't so interested in you," she began slowly, offering a halting explanation that rang true. After all, her agency hadn't wanted Mr. Young. They'd wanted the next buyer of the disc. Now, though, now that she'd been caught and threatened, she didn't doubt that her fellow agents would do anything to even the score. Once they had the luxury of finding out what happened to her. "I believe they are more interested in whoever wanted to buy the disc from you. You merely took the bait."

He gave her shoulder one final hard squeeze before letting go. "And where is the disc right now? I think it's about time I take possession of it."

Because there was no way of letting Max know she was in trouble, because she didn't have her cell, and because she wanted to warn them in case a battalion of Young's lackeys descended on the room, Trixie lied again. She forced her gaze to stay on Mr. Young; didn't glance once in the direction of her purse. "I don't have it with me. Jim was going to bring it to our meeting."

Mr. Young snapped his fingers and held his hand out. "I need the phone, Ritch. Now."

Trixie watched through veiled lashes as Ritch carried the cordless phone over to them. She shrank away from him, having no desire to be anywhere near the frightening man. He didn't help matters. As he handed over the cordless to his boss, he intentionally bumped into her. His warm breath assaulted her neck. He grazed her shoulder, trailed his fingers all the way down to her wrist. Trixie stopped breathing while disgust bloomed within her.

"Thank you, Ritch." Mr. Young clearly dismissed him, sending him quickly back to his post. He offered the phone over to Trixie, who could still feel the presence of the other man's loathsome touch along her arm. Leaning forward, he shared in a softly uttered voice, "Ritch has plans for you."

Trixie's eyebrows shot up. "No," she denied, shaking her head vehemently.

"Oh, yes, he most certainly does," Mr. Young replied without an ounce of sympathy. He cupped her chin, tilted her face up, and traced the outline of his hand on her cheek. "This is Vegas, darlin'. I'd play your cards right with me. Do everything I ask of you and you'll be fine. Trust me on this. You don't want to be his jackpot winnings. You really don't."

"I believe you," she mumbled through thin lips. She looked down as he pressed the phone into her hands.

"Be a good girl, then, and follow my directions. That's all you need to do." For the first time Mr. Young joined her in taking a seat. Steepling his hands under his chin, he watched her closely. "You are going to call your suite. You are going to talk to that husband of yours. Tell him Ginny invited you up to the penthouse and that you're having a wonderful time here. Then ask him to come up here instead of the bar. Make sure he brings the disc." He held his hands out in front of him. "Just be your normal, bright and cheerful self on the phone. I don't want Hart getting the wrong impression, you understand."

A thinly veiled threat. Her voice was intentionally feeble. "I'll do my best."

He settled back, making himself comfortable. "Do not clue him in that all's not what it seems." With a meaningful glance towards a gloating Ritch, he added quietly, for her ears only, "I don't think I need to explain the consequences should you let something slip."

Trixie gingerly held the phone in her hands. Knowing she'd do better without looking at Mr. Young, who was watching her with an intensity she could practically feel, she focused on the glittering water of the pool. There was no way she was placing a call to Jim. No way in hell. She'd rather die than put him in harm's way. Keeping a sharp eye on her two enemies, she started to push the numbers for Max's cell. Now she merely had to figure out how to handle the conversation so that Mr. Young didn't realize she was talking to the wrong person. Bright, cheerful and vibrant. Shouldn't be too hard, she thought sarcastically. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she prepared to be just that as the phone began to ring on the other end. She waited breathlessly for Max to answer.


	34. Chapter 34

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic

Chapter Thirty-Four

_Back in the suite… _

Dan opened a bag of potato chips and popped one in his mouth. He casually rested against the stool, one ankle crossed over the other, prepared to enjoy the living, breathing form of entertainment that was one seriously amusing James Winthrop Frayne II. He found it even more hilarious because Jim didn't appear to have the slightest clue that he was being watched or, more accurately, laughed at. Dan shook his head as a small smirk played across his lips. Jim hadn't stopped moving since Trixie had left the suite with Ginny Young. He'd march to one end of the large living room, turn around, and then retrace his steps as he trekked back to the other side. Periodically he would sit down on any of the available pieces of furniture for a minute, maybe two, max, before jumping back up to resume his stream of unending pacing. Incoherent mutterings and slashing hand motions accompanied each step, sometimes partnered with a furtive glance at the clock. All served to amuse Dan to no end. It was a cycle broken only by which piece of furniture Jim chose to momentarily perch on.

Deciding it was quickly approaching prime time to agitate, Dan wiped the potato chip crumbs off his fingers, took a deep breath, and commented dryly, curious how or even if his source of amusement would respond to him, "You know, Jim, the hotel management isn't going to be pleased with the way you're treating this suite. You've already broken a statue. There's a fresh coffee stain on the carpet out there in the hallway that will be hell to get out. And if you don't stop this run of incessant pacing that you're doing, you're going to ruin this carpet, too. It's time to sit and chill, man. Just…chill."

The unexpected sound of Dan's voice brought him to an abrupt halt. He snapped his head back, a look of utter confusion crossing his face, as if he'd forgotten his friend was still inhabiting the same room. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, making the red locks stick out in various directions, before slowly sinking down onto an ottoman. Feeling defeated, sounding defeated, and looking defeated, he admitted quietly, "Damn it, Dan. I don't know how to do that."

Dan's eyebrows lifted. "Relax?" he clarified, a hint of disbelief lacing his voice. "Seriously, it's not that hard, Jim. All you've got to do is look, watch and copy. Simple. See? I'm relaxing right now." He reached behind, grabbed a bag of chips and tossed it at his friend. It surprised him when Jim actually caught it. "Stay in that chair, have a snack, and stop watching the damn clock. Everything's going to be fine. You'll be seeing her again in a matter of minutes. Like I said, you've just got to chill. That's all. She's going to be fine and you're going to be back with her before you know it."

Jim looked down at the snack bag as if he'd never seen the likes of one before. Having no appetite whatsoever, he dropped it where it sat, unopened, on the table. And he couldn't resist sneaking yet another glance at the clock, probably because Dan had brought it up. But he did accept one piece of Dan's advice. For once, he stayed on the ottoman, although he didn't exactly look like a picture perfect portrait for relaxation. His shoulders were set in a dejected line. His head was held in his hands. Not even a ghost of a smile filtered across his lips. After a long tense moment of silence, he gritted out, speaking to the floor, "I don't like the fact that she had to go ahead of me, Dan. It doesn't seem right. It just feels…wrong." His eyebrows furrowed together. The more he thought about it, the worse it felt. He wanted to be with her. He didn't want her out there, alone, with anyone, male or female, who happened to carry the last name of Young.

Dan's posture didn't change. He still looked cool, composed and collected but his dark eyes sharpened. It didn't come as a surprise to hear Jim admit he was worried about Trixie or her whereabouts. How often had he admitted to something like that in the past? Way too many times to count was the only answer. Because of it, he tempered his voice. "Hey, you've got no worries. It'll be okay. This is our Trixie we're talking about. Super secret agent extraordinaire. She knows how to take care of herself." Since Jim still looked as if he'd lost his best friend, which, Dan thought in retrospect, he probably felt like he had, he added with a deep assurance, "Trust me. She's handling everything just fine. Right now, she's probably knocking back her first daiquiri and wishing the night was over and she was back up here. She'd much rather be with you than where she's at."

Unable to formulate an eloquent response, Jim settled for a soft grunt. So far everything out of Dan's mouth rang with absolute truth. The management at the hotel wasn't going to be happy with the state of the room after they checked out. He needed to relax. And Trixie was an amazing agent who worked for a top secret agency. She was perfectly capable…no, more than capable, of handling anything that came her way, and then some. However, there was just one slight, tiny, nearly insignificant thing. He couldn't shake off a troubling, nagging feeling. It was a stupid one to be experiencing, he understood it. But she was Trixie…his Trixie. And he didn't like being separated from him again, even if she was only in the bar downstairs, within the same building he was in. She was still away from him and, to make matters worse, she was hanging out with the wife of their enemy. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Dan gamely swallowed back another chuckle, as well as an answering sarcastic retort. At the moment Jim looked so damn miserable he actually couldn't find it within him to tease him. He'd save it for later. "You could probably head down to the bar now," he suggested helpfully after a careful glance at his watch. "Trixie's expecting you at what, 8:30? If you leave now, you'd only be about ten minutes early. You wouldn't look too desperate. She'd be glad to see you."

The change in Jim was immediate. He perked up. "Sometimes you manage to surprise me. I think that's the best idea you've ever had." He nodded his head, decision already made, and bolted up from his seat again, eager to get going. He started patting his back pocket to see if his wallet was there and grabbed his cell and the keycard from the entertainment stand, preparing to leave the suite. Satisfied he had everything he needed, he started towards the door, a jaunty whistle beginning to form on his lips, when the connecting door to their suite flew open and hit the adjoining wall with an uncharacteristic bang.

An unsmiling, glaring, and uncharacteristically stressed Max stood in the doorway. He caught the door as it flew back towards him with a competent hand and forced it away, so that it finally ended up resting against the wall. He eyed the two men inside the suite with a stare that could only be termed accusatory. He didn't say a word; merely continued to glower at them and waited for them to acknowledge his presence.

Dan nearly choked on his latest potato chip. Smothering his cough, he finally gave up his relaxed posture and stood up straight, a frown marring his handsome face. He swung around to stare at Jim, who had a hand resting on the doorknob, and shared a confused shrug. The secret agent was seriously pissed off about something, that much was certain. Hoping to smooth over any rough waters, Dan carefully lifted his hand and waved a half-hearted greeting, unsure if he wanted Max to respond or not. "Hey there, Max. How's everything…ah…going?" he greeted their new arrival hesitatingly, sounding very unsure and unlike himself.

"Not well," Max shot back sharply. He stared them down, hard, before he snapped up his hand. A bright pink cell phone that they each recognized was held in his grasp. "Tell me," he barked out in an authoritative tone they'd never heard him use before and, quite frankly, neither of them ever wanted to hear him use again. "Did either of you realize that she left the suite without her phone?"

They didn't need him to correctly identify the _she_ he was talking about. As his heart began to pound, Jim couldn't look anywhere else but at the small object. Its presence in Max's hand seemed to be mocking him, which was practically impossible since it was merely a piece of technology. After working with her for the past few days, he understood the importance of the cell phone and how it was a serious piece of equipment that Trixie needed to have with her. At all times. She should have it with her now. It was her lifeline, both for her safety as well as for communication purposes. Without it, she couldn't get in contact with Max…and, he realized belatedly, her partner couldn't listen in on her visit with Ginny Young, either, putting her in a potentially dangerous position. A short, pithy, and extremely coarse word flew out of his mouth.

Ignoring Dan, Max focused on Jim, the man he clearly held responsible for Trixie's forgetfulness. "My thoughts exactly," he agreed without an ounce of humor. Inside, he was feeling more self-recrimination than he was allowing the others to see. He hadn't noticed the cell had sat on the coffee table in his room; had been there ever since Trixie had left after their meeting a few hours earlier. He'd only discovered its presence when he'd attempted to listen in on Trixie's cocktail date with Ginny Young a few minutes ago and had received nothing but the sound of an exuberant Shane cheering on the Baltimore Orioles. Since the game was showing on the television set in the living room of his suite, it hadn't made a lick of sense of him. Only until he'd walked out of his bedroom and had finally spotted the pink object peeking out from under his discarded shirt had he realized what had happened and what necessary piece of equipment Trixie had unintentionally left behind.

"She forgot her cell." Dan stared down at it, baffled, all earlier thoughts of amusement rapidly diminishing. A scowl etched deep lines onto his handsome face. "Why the hell would she have forgotten it?"

Max whirled around, granted Dan with a look of utter condescension. "You've got to be joking. Do you really need to ask?" He hooked a thumb in the direction of the person he laid one hundred percent of the blame on and answered in an unpleasant sneer, "It's him. All him. You know that. I know that. And so does the culprit."

Jim's temper, always easy to ignite, began to flare, especially when he was being accused of something he hadn't done. He opened his mouth; nearly, very nearly, allowed it to breathe. His hands clenched into fists that turned impotent when he abruptly remembered that there was something much bigger and more important going on. Trixie. She was more important. The thought of her calmed him better than anything else could and trapped the angry words before he could give them life.

Max took a menacing step forward, needing to take out his frustrations on someone. Jim was a handy target. "I should never have asked you to take my spot," he spat out, wishing he could go back in time and restart the whole mission. It was just one big muddled mess from the very beginning to the very end. "Never. She hasn't been the same since you've showed up. Her focus is gone and it's hurting her work."

"I don't give a damn if her work's suffering. It doesn't matter, not to me and not to her," Jim shot back hotly.

Max narrowed his eyes, taking exception to Jim's tone of voice. "You couldn't be more wrong. It damn well does matter," he countered, tossing the cell off to the side. It landed with a plop on the sectional, a bright pink splotch against the soft black leather. "She's out there, alone, on her own, with absolutely no way of getting in contact with us."

Even though his temper was fast approaching the breaking point again, Jim had enough sense left to listen, to really listen, to Max's angrily offered statement. Because of it, he read more into it than Dan did. Once the meaning sunk in, he moved fast and was in front of Max before the other man had time to blink. Jim bunched up the material of his shirt in his fists, held on tightly, primed for a fight. Practically snarling, he ordered curtly, "Tell me. Now. She has back-up. Right?"

"Nope. Why would she require back-up?" Max wondered aloud sarcastically, giving Jim a strong shove back. Sneering himself, he wiped away the creases caused by Jim's strong grasp on his soft cotton shirt and attempted to stare the other man down. He was stunned when he found that he couldn't do it. No, the green-eyed man wasn't giving any quarter, wasn't moving at all, was staring back at him with a strong sense of purpose he wouldn't have been able to predict. Damn, it was obvious that the man was deeply in love with Belden. And, since she couldn't even remember something as simple as her own damn cell phone, he was just as certain that she was as deeply in love with him, too. Some of his annoyance faded away; some of the harshness left his voice, but not all. He was too worried about her. "Look. I'll tell you straight. She doesn't have any back-up. At all. She didn't want any. She insisted that the entire team stay behind and keep an eye on you two instead."

Dan jerked backwards as if he'd been hit, finally inserting himself into the conversation again. "Tell me you're kidding."

Max's response was a slight lift of an eyebrow. Shaking his head, he started back to the connecting door. Feeling minutely better since he'd been able to release a small amount of his own dissatisfaction, he called back over his shoulder, "I'm on my way down to _The Crown Vic _rightnow. I need to check up on her. I want you two to stay here. I don't want to have to worry about anyone else right now. Stay put. I'll keep you updated as soon as I see her."

It seemed his belligerent streak went much wider than he'd expected it to. Jim immediately disagreed, and loudly, too. "I don't think so. I'll meet you down there." He didn't wait to see how the secret agent took his refusal. He pivoted around, took the two long strides necessary to reach the door, and curled his fingers around the handle when his second attempt to leave the suite was also interrupted. This time it was a phone. The sharp shrill ring of a cell phone. It came straight from across the room, let out one bright chirp after another. So in need of seeing for himself that she was fine, simply sitting at the bar and sipping from whatever fancy concoction she'd settled on, he almost didn't glance at the recipient of the phone call.

Grumbling under his breath, in no mood to talk with whoever was calling him now, Max grabbed his phone from its holder on his belt and frowned down at the number glaring back at him on his cell. Something was off. There was no earthly reason why he should be receiving a call from somewhere in the hotel. Already suspicious about the person on the other end, he rudely gave his back to the other occupants in the room and answered sharply, "Hello?"

Firmly intending to leave, only listening with half an ear, the last name Jim expected to hear slipped out of Max's lips. He found himself spinning back around. Only an authoritative slash of Max's hand told him to be quiet, stay quiet and keep all questions until later.

"Hey, Trixie," Max answered into the phone, his back once again towards the two men. Wondering why the hell Trixie was calling him while she was with Ginny Young, he held up his hand again when twin shadows overtook him. Both his eyebrows lifted when he heard Trixie respond by calling him the wrong name. Jim. He wasn't Jim. He opened his mouth to tell her that but her unstoppable torrent of words stopped him. Dreading the answer, already aware that something had gone terribly wrong, he inquired with as much cheer as he could muster, "What's going on?"

Dan's initial relief began a dramatic fade. Hearing from Trixie was wonderful but...He couldn't shake off his suspicions. Staring at Max's taut back, he leaned forward, attempting to hear Max's end of the phone call. The agent was speaking too lowly, too quickly, and was obviously determined not to include them in on the conversation. Frustrated, he repeated Max's words to Jim but not in as friendly of a tone. "What's going on?" he hissed out, not liking this newest development in the least.

Jim earlier fears had grown in leaps and bounds. "Something's wrong, Dan," he declared, glaring at the other man who not only had the audacity to ignore them but also just walked through the connecting door, out of their room and into the other suite. Then Max committed the biggest sin of all. He closed the door, effectively cutting them off from any of the conversation. Jim felt his palms start to sweat. He knew. Oh, hell, he knew. Trixie was in trouble.

"I agree with you there." Dan's dark eyes began to glow with a barely contained fury. He glanced at the front door, considered leaving the suite for the bar downstairs, when he viciously bit down on the urge. Going off half-cocked, while momentarily appealing and satisfying, wasn't a solid idea, could only lead to more complications than expected. He shook his head, beyond frustrated, and turned back to Jim. What he saw shocked him even more.

There wasn't just fury. There wasn't merely frustration. His expression was fierce; his eyes were deadly. In that moment, Jim looked as if he could take on the entire world if need be to get to his special girl. Just like a warrior in olden days. It was something Dan would never have thought Jim of capable of being. He drew in a harsh breath and took a tiny step back from his friend. He wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of it. "Jim?"

He forced his hands to unclench. Channeling Trixie herself, he pressed them against his thigh and recited the pitiful amount of information that they knew, "Trixie doesn't have her cell with her. She's supposed to be with Ginny Young. And she called Max. He's not letting us listen in on the call." He aimed a furious glower at the door the man had recently closed on them. The look alone should have reduced the connecting door to ashes.

"You've summed most of it up nicely. You just forgot to add that our girl is in trouble." Dan glanced down at the pink cell, wished to high hell that she had it in her possession. Deciding that they had as much at stake in this fiasco as the damn CDA did, if not more, he strode towards the connecting door and, with a quick flick of the wrist, wrenched it opened with as much force as Max had employed earlier.

With the phone cradled to his ear, Max inclined his head and suppressed a low sigh at the same time. He should have locked it. It wasn't hard to read their emotions at the moment. Fury and worry combined to make a pretty vivid statement. Once again he lifted his hand to quiet any forthcoming interruptions and did his best to focus on the call, not on the two living, breathing dragons standing in the doorway to his suite. "Yeah, Trixie. I got it. No worries at all. I'll bring the disc. Upstairs. To the penthouse. ASAP. You can count on me."

Jim actually felt the blood drain out of his face. She wasn't downstairs in the bar, where she was supposed to be. No, she was upstairs. _In the penthouse._ He felt his worry double, the fury triple, and was about to pivot around when a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, keeping him still and in place.

"Steady," Dan whispered urgently, not willing to let Jim go now. From the sounds of it, they were going to require some serious professional expertise. Needing to gather as much information as possible, he unashamedly listened in on Max's end of the conversation. It slowly occurred to him that Trixie had intentionally called Max but was referring to him as Jim. He watched the real Jim out of the corner of his eye, curious to see if Jim had caught on yet.

"I'll be there soon, Trixie," Max continued, eyeing the other two men the entire time. He nodded his approval at the way they controlled themselves. "And I'll remember to bring the disc. You can reassure Mr. Young that your husband will be there. I'll take care of everything. 'Bye." After her quickly whispered farewell, he disconnected the call, his stomach knotted with worry. He despised it when one of his agents was in danger. And Trixie, despite her chirpy tone of voice, was most certainly in a whole heap of it right now. She couldn't come out and say it, most likely because she had at least one person, if not more, listening in on her end of the phone call, but she'd told him so simply by making the choice of calling him, and not Jim. She needed help.

"She's at the penthouse." Jim's voice broke through the tense silence. He posed it as a question, not a statement, and didn't react until Max tersely nodded. Then, letting his temper and an unavoidable sense of urgency take hold of him, he rushed away from the others, went straight through his suite, his destination the front door, prepared to go upstairs and do anything possible to get her back.

Frayne was turning out to be full of surprises. Any other time Max would have appreciated it. Now was not the right time. He swore under his breath and sprinted to catch up to him. A vault over the coffee table helped him beat Jim to the door. "Hold it!" he growled at the hotheaded younger man in front of him, feeling like the entire mission was spiraling well out of his control. A confrontational civilian, an agent in danger, and a bad guy who had somehow figured something of importance out. It was enough to aggravate the living hell out of him. He reached around, threw the lock on the door, and held the palm of his hand against it for good measure, unwilling to let Frayne out of his sight or out of the room, not until he was able to get a better handle on the situation. He made sure to speak calmly but he couldn't quite hide the urgency. Or the anger. They didn't have a lot of time. He had to formulate a plan. "Damn it all, Jim. You've got to listen to me. Listen to me!"

Jim's lips pulled back into a feral snarl, clearly unwilling to do anything anyone asked of him, not if it didn't involve immediately rescuing Trixie. "I'm going up there. Right now. You can't stop me."

Oh, yes, he most certainly could. Various ways of incapacitating an opponent flew through his mind, all successful and mostly painless. Mostly. There was just the tricky little fact that Trixie would most likely demand his ass on a silver platter if he used any of them on her Frayne. That alone was the lone reason why he hesitated. Trying to remain calm, desperately trying to retain some semblance of control, Max dropped back but made sure to place himself between Jim and the door. He wasn't budging. "You are not going upstairs, you got that? You wouldn't do any good except maybe get yourself killed. Most likely Trixie, too." He gave Jim a good, hard shove, hoping to knock some sense into him. "That's why she called me. She needs help, the help I can give her right now. This isn't a time for pride. You can't offer what I can. Not right now."

Furious, red-faced, and running short of his rapidly depleting supply of patience, Jim looked ready to pounce on the other man, especially when he rubbed it in that Trixie hadn't called him for help. "You can't tell me what do," he hissed out in a dangerously soft voice.

Max's answer was an arrogant grin. "This is my mission, Hart," he declared, using Jim's alias on purpose. "It's a seriously messed up one but it's still mine. You'd better believe I can tell you exactly what to do."

The eyes glaring back were two twin flames of emerald, dark and deadly. "Trixie's alone. She's up there, with them, without help," he began, only to be silenced by a quietly spoken order by Dan.

"Calm down, Jim. Let him do his job," Dan said, speaking words that went against his initial reaction, too.

"Fine. I'll let him do his job." Jim's upper lip curled. He sneered at both of them, his arms crossed over his chest. He had absolutely no intention of following anything either of them said. He was getting to Trixie, come hell or high water, and it didn't matter what a stupid CDA agent or a damn DEA agent said or advised him to do. He had his own agenda. And Trixie was at the top of it, exactly where she needed to be, exactly where he wanted her to be.

Max studied the infuriated man closely. When he was reasonably certain that the other man wasn't going to run out of the suite or turn his anger on him and attempt to beat the crap out of him, Max slowly gave up his position in front of the door. "All right. We're all calm. Mostly," he tacked on under his breath. "Now, first, we need to figure out what happened. Somehow, Young knows something isn't exactly on the up and up here with the Harts. Obviously, he doesn't know everything but he knows enough not to trust our dear Mrs. Hart. Any ideas?"

"Let's see. Trixie didn't have her cell for a good portion of the day. She left it over there," Dan mused aloud, nodding his head in the direction of the other suite. He rubbed his hand over the dark stubble on his chin while he contemplated the events of the day. Pretty uninteresting, all in all. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. "Normally it would alert her if something was wrong. She didn't leave the suite. No one else did, either. The only thing that came into the suite today was…"

Jim sucked in an audible breath. He closed his eyes in resignation. Never once had he considered the fact that the gift bag from Mr. Young should have been scanned. Never. His shoulders momentarily drooped before he resolutely straightened them. And Trixie had never thought to scan it, either. Damn _it,_ he thought with an ugly grimace.

Max figured his blood pressure was going to go sky-high at any possible moment. It had to. His emotions were running the gamut, which wasn't a good thing since he was supposed to be in control of the situation. It absolutely, positively sucked that he wasn't. "What?" he blasted them both, needing to know what made Jim suddenly appear so guilty and Dan sigh so loudly.

"Mr. Young's butler delivered a gift bag today," Dan finally informed him, inwardly castigating himself on not pursuing the contents. Something had to come in with the bag…something not welcome and not wanted. And that something was obviously the reason behind Trixie's unexpected change in venue. "Jim received it earlier this afternoon, when Trixie was over meeting with you."

Max figured it was beyond futile to play the blame game now. It didn't matter; not at the moment. He couldn't let it matter. He needed the facts more. His inquiry was short and clipped. "What was in the bag?"

"Clothes and her old purse," Dan supplied helpfully.

"And a digital camera," Jim added, earning a confused look from Dan, who hadn't known about its presence. "I didn't want you to see the pictures," he admitted, flushing faintly, before turning back to Max. "I also got a present from Mr. Young. A watch," he added swiftly. "I didn't want it. It's still in the bedroom. So is the camera."

Max looked up at the ceiling and slowly counted to ten. It didn't help cool down him like it was supposed to. "So we most likely have a listening device of some kind in the bedroom. Wonderful." There had to be something back there. He knew it. Mr. Young had found a way to listen in on the goings-on in the suite. It was merely a matter now of what, exactly, he'd had the pleasure of overhearing.

"Looks like it." Dan racked his brain, trying to figure out what Mr. Young could have eavesdropped on. His mouth fell open when he recalled going back into the bedroom to coax the two of them out of it. He actually toed the carpet, for the first feeling ineffectual and clumsy. "I'll bet Young knows that I've been staying here with you two. He'd find that very suspicious."

The need for motion seemed to have been transferred from Trixie to him. Jim kept drumming his fingers along his thigh. "He probably does," he agreed briefly, inwardly castigating himself for not once considering what could have been in the bag.

Plans were finally starting to form in Max's mind. He eyed Jim, considering the options. Right now there were two clear avenues they could pursue. Jim could carry a fake disc to the penthouse, with back-up right behind him, and they could attempt to wrangle her out of this precarious predicament. Or he could go with his second option. Chaos. Cause some serious chaos, even the score with Young and Ritch, and pull Trixie out in the middle of it. Both options promised a similar level of success. It was the rate of potential injury or, indeed, worse, that concerned him the most. Chaos held a distinct disadvantage. It was merely a matter if Jim could perform under pressure…or if Trixie could handle having him up there with her, when both of their lives were at stake. He blew out a worried breath.

"Max?" Dan stared at him with concern, finding it odd for the agent to be so quiet for so long.

"Right. Right." Max cleared his throat, desperately wishing Joss was there so she could help him make the correct decision. Wanting to be prepared in case he decided on option one, he muttered, "We need to get a disc." Feeling unusually rattled, he searched around the room which, of course, did not have anything remotely resembling a disc in it. His eyes finally lit on the connecting door. He pushed Dan towards it, giving Mangan the assignment. "Get back in there, get Shane, and get a freakin' disc from him. I don't give a damn what's on it; just get something we could use to pass it off as the disc for Mr. Young. Something we can use to get in there and get Trixie out."

After Dan rushed into the room to complete his task, Max whirled around to face Jim. He needed to find out a relevant piece of information. He barked out loudly, "Does she have her gun with her?"

Taken aback by the question, as well as the clipped tone it was delivered in, Jim shot back sarcastically, "How the hell am I supposed to know something like that?"

Max ignored the blatant belligerence and went with a simpler question. If this mess of a mission didn't prove that agents shouldn't have ties outside of their agency, he didn't know what else would. It was turning into a complete and total debacle. He wasn't looking forward to the debriefing, which was hovering on the horizon. The Chief wasn't going to be very pleased with any of it. "What purse did she bring with her?"

Jim actually rolled his eyes. "The new one. You know, the one that Ginny Young gave her yesterday. It was sitting right over there." He jabbed a finger in the direction of the end table where Trixie had dropped her purse when they'd come into the room the night before.

"Her old one?" Max glanced around again but couldn't find it anywhere in the large room.

"Back there," Jim answered shortly, gesturing in the direction of the bedroom. He remembered it falling out of the gift bag when he'd emptied it out on the bed earlier. He hadn't looked at it, hadn't thought to inspect it, but he seriously doubted if Trixie had left her gun in the purse. She wouldn't have forgotten to transfer it over to her new purse.

"I'm going to check her purse and scan the room. You. Stay here," Max ordered Jim meaningfully. On feet of stealth he made his way down the hallway, already aware of one thing he was going to find. It came as no surprise to him when his cell let him know the second he crossed over the threshold into the bedroom that there was a huge problem within the room.

Jim glanced around the living room in disbelief. It was momentarily empty. Blissfully so, almost as if he'd conjured up the state by himself. Dan was in the other suite, in search of a disc. Max was in the bedroom, looking for Trixie's purse and scanning the bedroom for a listening device. And he had been left alone. One edge of his lip curved in a satisfied half-smile. He didn't waste another precious second and sprang into action. He scooped up Trixie's cell, dropped it into his back pocket, and unlocked the front door. With one furtive backwards glance, he slipped through the front door, letting it close behind him with a nearly soundless click. He didn't have one other thought in his mind, certainly didn't care at all that he didn't have a stupid disc in his possession or anyone from the agency backing him up. Or even a weapon, for that matter. The fact that he was blatantly disregarding a direct order from Max didn't register. If it had, he would have ignored it anyway. At the moment there was only one thing that mattered. He needed to get to Trixie, as simple as that. The rest would take care of itself.

About thirty seconds after the front door closed, Dan re-entered the room. He closed the case shut on the blank disc and ignored a concerned Shane, who had followed him and was now looking around in vain for his superior. A hand on his hip, Dan came to a stumbling pause and grumbled to himself, wondering when everything had gone to hell and back, "Just where did everyone get to?"

As if on cue, Max sprinted back in, carrying Trixie's old purse tucked under his arm like a football. "Just as I expected, there's a freakin' bug in the bedroom," he announced in a low voice to the occupants. He hadn't taken care of it, had left it in the Rolex, not wanting to alert Mr. Young or any of his entourage that they were aware of its existence. It was the best course of action, the only way, especially since they currently held Trixie in their possession right now. Through the astonishing wonders of his cell, he'd been able to ascertain that the electronic listening device wasn't of the highest quality; that, luckily for them, it was only able to pick up sounds from the immediate room and nowhere else. A positive, for sure. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sounded personally affronted when he spoke, "Can you believe it? After all the precautions we've taken since we got here, there's now a damn bug in the bedroom."

Dan understood immediately that Max wasn't talking about the common household spider. He swore in disgust, frustrated with himself, "I never once thought to ask Trixie to scan the bag when Jim received it."

"Just as I suspected, the bug's in the watch," Max replied, trying to mask an overwhelming sense of apprehension with a businesslike demeanor. "It's such a weak one that it wouldn't have been able to work until the watch had been unwrapped. Jim must have opened the box and then threw the watch aside. It's a good thing he decided not to wear it." At present, it was their only saving grace. Trixie, he knew, wouldn't have sounded so healthy on the phone if Mr. Young was aware of the complete and total truth. He suspected that something was off but Trixie, being one of the smartest agents he'd ever had the pleasure of working with, must have given whatever he suspected the correct spin. She was in danger but it wasn't mortal danger. At least, not yet.

"What's in the purse?" Dan pointed to the object of femininity in Max's hand.

"Another missing piece of the puzzle." He turned it upside down. Nothing fell out. Thank God. "At the very least, we can be thankful that she has her gun with her. She's armed."

Dan released a relieved puff of air. "Well, that's something, I guess."

"Tell me about it." Max ran a hand that wanted to shake through his dark hair. He slumped against the wall, allowing himself a moment to let the severity of the situation sink in, when he noticed that someone was conspicuously absent from the room. Someone whom he'd ordered to stay still. Someone who didn't like taking no for an answer, not when it involved a certain petite blonde. He straightened up immediately. Eyes began to blaze. "Oh, hell, no."

"What now?" Dan stared in confusion at the secret agent.

Max grabbed Dan by the shoulder and practically tossed the taller man into the other suite. He snapped the connecting door closed, flipped the set of locks, and glared at an unsmiling Shane, ignoring the question. "You stay here with Mangan. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere. We've already got two people to worry about. I don't want any more. Got it?"

Since Dan had bested him a few times already, Shane didn't appear too confident in keeping the other man contained in the room, if he really wanted to leave. He gave a quick nod of his head and mumbled, "Yeah. I got it."

Unhappy with the order, annoyed with its insinuation, Dan began cracking his knuckles, as if readying for a fight. Staring intently at Max, he posed the most obvious question, "What the hell's happening now?"

Max shrugged off the question. His long strides ate up the carpeting as he sprinted to his bedroom. He came back with his gun and checked to make certain it was loaded. After that, he tucked it away, and picked up his cell. He didn't miss a beat and started typing in orders to the various members of their back-up team, ordering them to get into their positions and fast. He spared one last glance back towards Shane. Ignoring Dan, hoping that he would stay put but somehow knowing that he wouldn't, he shared curtly, "I'm on my way up to the penthouse. We've got two people to recover now. Belden and Frayne."

Stunned, Dan's mouth fell open. When had Jim found time to slip away? He ran through the past few minutes, decided it must have been when he'd gone over for the disc. It was the only window of opportunity he would have had. Smart, too, he thought to himself. Staring over at Shane, he started to bide his time. Oh, yeah, there was no way he was staying behind. He was getting to that penthouse. Somehow.

Max must have read his mind. He glared at Dan and ordered fiercely, "Stay here, Mangan. I mean it." He paused a moment before throwing open the door with authority, understanding that the odds were pretty darn good that Dan wouldn't be any better at following his orders than Jim was. Then he didn't give the matter another thought. He was gone.


	35. Chapter 35

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty-Five

_Out on the terrace…_

Trixie ended the phone call and placed the cordless phone ever so carefully back on the table. Slowly, she lifted her head, met the direct gaze of the man across from her, and sent up a fervent prayer, hoping that they believed she had just finished talking with Jim, and not her partner. Now or never, she thought with an inward snort and took a deep breath, prepared to continue the façade of the terrified victim. "He's bringing the disc," she announced in a low, trembling voice that belied the sharpening of her eyes.

A wide, delighted smile crossed his face. Linking fingers over his stomach, Mr. Young nodded once, satisfied with the outcome. There was no denying it. Luck was with him. Not only was he going to gain possession of the disc but he was also going to be able to teach the two people who'd attempted to double cross him a very important lesson. Then there was the added benefit that it wasn't going to cost him a single cent. _Fabulous_ was all he could think. Since he was in such a good mood, he reached over, covered her hand with his and gave it a small squeeze before offering an oddly sincere complement, "You did well, Mrs. Hart. I'm proud of you."

She despised his touch. It took all her training to keep the true depth of her feelings from showing. At least he didn't realize she hadn't actually called Jim, the lone positive in this mess. It was a shaky positive but a positive nonetheless. She caught the phone out of the corner of her eyes. As long as he didn't hit redial, there shouldn't be a problem. One worry down. Since Mr. Young expected her to be scared and cowed, she played her role accordingly. Making her voice shake with fear, she shared, "He…um…he should be here in a few minutes."

Mr. Young nodded again, anticipating the acquisition of the disc at any given moment. His fingers itched. He couldn't wait to get it. Although, he realized as a small frown furrowed on his brow, he was going to have to be careful with what he did with it. It appeared to be a high commodity within the NSA. But he figured he'd be able to make a good pile of money off of it…eventually. It would take some patience on his part. Six months. Maybe a year. But eventually there'd come a time when he'd be able to sell it. For a large sum, too, of that he had no doubt. He'd be able to do it all, to have it all, because of the idiocy of the woman and her husband, who'd honestly thought they could dupe him. Stupid. Truly, truly stupid. Amused, he let out a low rumble of laughter.

She flinched at the sound. It carried a mean, twisted quality to it, one that didn't bode well for her future. "Mr. Young?" she inquired cautiously, fighting the urge to pull her hand back from under his. Employing an uneasy little giggle, she looked up at him through big blue eyes, wanting to play on his sympathies, should he possess any, "I'm still rather nervous here."

He tapped her hand before finally releasing it and let out another chuckle. His next words did nothing to relieve her anxiety level. "You should be, my dear."

She snatched her hand away the second he released it and tucked it into her lap, under the table and out of his line of sight. She started rubbing it with her other hand, as if the simple action could wipe away the memory of his despicable touch. Biting her bottom lip, she inquired hopefully, "Do you think that maybe, just maybe, you could help me be a little less nervous here?"

Eyeing her the way a scientist would look at a miniscule speck on a slide, he considered her question, intentionally drawing out the suspense. He stroked his chin before answering, "Maybe."

"Thank you." Left with nothing else to do, she furthered the charade, wanting to keep him occupied. Her help had to arrive, she thought with an inward sneer, and soon. "What's going to happen once Jim gets here?"

He edged a hip onto the table before putting two fingers under her chin. Then he lifted her head because he wanted to look at her directly. "First I'll get the disc. Then I'll need to check it out. Ritch is going to take care of that little detail for me." He hitched his free thumb in the direction of his underling, who was patiently watching the proceedings with a look to his eyes that Trixie found unusual…and extremely sinister. It made her shiver. "I need to make sure your husband is giving me the real deal. Once Ritch gives me the okay that the disc is authentic, then, and only then, will I discuss my future plans for you and your husband. So I guess I can't really help you out all that much. You'll just have to stay nervous until then."

She tugged her chin out of his grasp, understanding more than he was actually saying. Mr. Young didn't have any intentions of letting them leave. He was going to exact a bit of revenge on them, first. The realization strengthened her decision to call Max instead of Jim. There was no doubt about it. Jim was going to be furious once he realized what she'd done but…she swatted impatiently at a loose curl. It was the best choice. The only choice. She didn't want Jim here, not within the line of fire or whatever the hell Mr. Young had in mind for them. He needed to be safe. Knowing Max as well as she did, things were going to become completely, insanely chaotic. All she had to do was wait out the next few moments until he mobilized their back-up forces. She moved to the edge of her chair, eager to spring into action, impatient for that one precious second of shock before Young and Ritch realized what was going on.

Silent until now, Ritch cleared his throat before finally inserting himself into the conversation. "I have a few suggestions about the Hart issue, Mr. Young," he offered his boss, with a disgustingly cheerful wink for her. "Both of them."

"Excellent!" Mr. Young clapped his hands together. One quick shove and he was off the table and swaggering his way towards his employee. "I always find your ideas intriguing, Ritch, my boy. Let's hear what you've got."

Trixie watched with barely concealed disgust as Mr. Young left her table and motioned Ritch over to another one, a good ten feet away from her. Close enough to watch but far enough away so that she couldn't hear them, for which she was pathetically grateful. She'd rather not know about Ritch or his ideas, ideas she was certain to detest, but she made certain to keep both of them within sight. Wondering if she could get away with it, she scooted her chair back along the tiles and slowly started to stand up, merely to see how they would react. Instantly, two pairs of eyes leveled on her. Neither were pleased.

As usual, Mr. Young took charge. "Sit," he ordered in a tone that wouldn't allow for any type of an objection. His single word cut through the sudden stillness of the terrace.

Without a word, Trixie instantly obeyed, her question fully answered. They didn't view her as a threat, that much was obvious, but they didn't want to grant her any sort of freedom, of any kind. At least they hadn't thought to restrain her. She looked down at her hands and flexed them, pleased and slightly surprised that she still had the ability to move of her own free will. After slanting another cautious glance at her two captors, who were once again engaged in a deep conversation, she concentrated on getting the lay of her surroundings. Her gun was hidden in her purse, three table-lengths away from her. One of the exits was through the terrace doors, which would lead to the living room. Another exit was at the far back. The servant's entrance. Had to be. And one more, far off to the side. She figured it was a short cut to gain entrance to the upstairs. Her foot starting to tap out a rhythm on the polished tile while she valiantly fought back the urge to move, the need to do something. For now, she wasn't left with much of a choice. Even though it may kill her, she had to sit back and wait on Max.

When the door bell let out its cheerful peal, she jumped, her heart in her throat and a fleeting expression of confusion flittering across her face. Of all the possible scenarios that went through her mind, announcing his arrival at the front door hadn't even been a consideration. A full frontal advance wasn't called for; subterfuge would work so much better. What was Max thinking? Her eyebrows drew together before she smoothed away the scowl and replaced it with an anxious expression. Eagle-eyed, she watched as Mr. Young motioned Ritch to leave the room and answer the door. Inching forward, she gripped the edge of her chair.

Whistling, Mr. Young pulled out his gun and sauntered back towards her, obviously pleased with himself and the situation. "Your husband needs to know who's in charge," he explained needlessly, ruffling her hair with his free hand. Still grinning, he positioned himself beside her and faced the door.

Because he was looking for a reaction, and clearly expecting one, Trixie shrank back as far as the chair would allow. Inside her mind was working furiously. Really, it wouldn't take much to disarm him right now. No one else appeared to be in the room. Adrenaline hummed through her veins while an assortment of moves ran through her mind. By her calculations she could have his weapon in six seconds, flat. A well-aimed jab here, a quick kick there, a steely arm around his throat. The element of surprise was on her side, too.

Misinterpreting her quiet state, Mr. Young leaned forward and chuckled again. "You look nervous again. Relax." He tucked back one of her curls and tapped her lightly on the forehead with his gun before dropping his free hand onto her shoulder. "You don't need to be scared. All's going to be fine as long as you and your husband cooperate with us. No worries, my dear. No worries at all."

"We'll cooperate," she hastened to assure him, holding herself still and wishing for the green light to proceed. "Believe me. We'll do anything you say. Just…just…please. Don't hurt him."

Her plea, spoken with such sincerity, momentarily surprised him. Disconcerted, Mr. Young tightened his grip on her shoulder. "You're more concerned about him than yourself?" he inquired, disbelief in his tone. He looked down but all he could see was a head full of spiraling blonde curls. No face.

"Don't hurt him," she repeated, more insistently this time.

The information slowly sank in. Somehow, he'd imagined that the woman would have been more than willing to throw her new husband under the bus, and vice versa. Most of the time that's how it went with the money-hungry wannabes he occasionally associated with. He'd never imagined that she would be more concerned about her husband's well-being than her own. Sweet, even romantic, he couldn't help but admit. However, it didn't change a thing. "Can't promise, sweetheart," he replied, finally letting go of her shoulder. "It'll all depend on how the next few minutes plays out."

Since she didn't think she'd be sitting much longer, Trixie nodded her head. "I understand," she mumbled, her tone intentionally bleak. Fully expecting Max or another agent to come charging through the doorway at any moment, she braced herself, prepared to take out Mr. Young when the chance presented itself.

She swore that time stood still, as it generally did when she was waiting for the unexpected to occur. Like always, her senses appeared to improve. The light wasn't so soft now. She seemed to be able to see everything more clearly, whether it was the sparkle of the gently lapping water or the overhead beams of the recessed lighting bouncing off the glass table tops. And her hearing…she didn't have to strain. She could clearly hear muffled voices, most likely coming from the living room. Obviously a bit of a scuffle had been instigated, with someone being pushed into a piece of furniture. From the splintering sound of wood and the crash that had to be something glass or ceramic, she accurately guessed it was a table. Even though Mr. Young let out a clearly displeased growl of disapproval, she kept her attention focused on the doorway.

When a man was forcibly shoved into the room, Trixie let out a sharp gasp. "Jim!" she called out, momentarily stunned and her mind a blank slate. What was Max thinking? He wasn't supposed to be there.

"Trixie." Jim zeroed in on Trixie immediately, didn't yet take note of the man behind her. He swiped a hand across his mouth and wiped away a trickle of blood, courtesy of a sucker punch by the bastard known as Ritch. At least he'd given back better than he'd received. An edge of his lip curled, in wicked, feral delight.

Half the expanse of the terrace existed between them. Tables, chairs, chaise loungers, miles upon miles of expensive and precisely laid tiles. Yet it all seemed to fade into nothingness the second her gaze collided with his. Trixie's heart leapt, first with joy and then in absolute fear. She concentrated on the fear, knowing it would be best to focus on that emotion. It would give her the momentum she needed to get them out of here, hopefully unscathed. With that in mind, she finally lifted her attention from Jim and looked beyond, to the man coming around him. It pleased her, immensely so, to see the darkening bruise on Ritch's cheek, the blood coming out of his nose. He may have gotten a good shot at Jim's mouth but it was obvious to her who'd come out the victor during the living room scuffle.

With the slight way she turned her head, Jim couldn't help but see the vicious mark on her cheek. He saw red, bright, bright red. "Trixie," he repeated again, sharply and displeased. He glared, first at Ritch, then at Mr. Young, absolutely furious that one of them would have dared to strike his girl.

Instantly, she covered the mark with her own hand, having forgotten all about it. "I'm okay," she hastened to assure him, wanting to diffuse any anger. At the moment she wasn't sure if a display of the famous Frayne temper would be a help or hindrance. "Truly. You don't need to worry about me. It doesn't hurt anymore."

Once again surprised, Mr. Young tilted his head to the side, understanding what Trixie was doing. She was trying to placate her husband, to prevent him from getting upset. Or, more accurately, more upset than he already was. An interesting dynamic was all he could think. Wondering how Jim would react, he further tested the waters by putting his hands on her shoulders, showing a proprietary claim that he doubted would be appreciated. Just to watch her husband's reaction, he started fingering her soft curls and was instantly rewarded. What could only be termed barely contained fury flared brightly on the redhead's face. It made him smile. And now he knew their weakness with a certainty that shocked him. It wasn't money. It was each other. There were certainly many good ways to exploit such a weakness. Warmly, he greeted their guest, "Good evening, Hart. How kind of you to drop by."

"You didn't leave me much of a choice," Jim shot back, unable and unwilling to play any kind of a game at all with the fanatically grinning man. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, completely ignoring the drying blood on his own split lip, he started forward, a determined gait to his stride, intent on reaching Trixie.

Mr. Young let him close about half the distance before putting up a hand, calling an immediate halt to his progress. It amazed him when the man actually stopped. He didn't catch the imperceptible shake of the head that Trixie offered, the only reason why Jim came to a complete stop. Letting go of her with some regret, he moved around the chair, putting himself in-between them and cutting off all visual contact. "That's close enough. You can stay right there, Hart."

Jim answered with a defiant look that should have sliced the man in two. The words came out with a low growl. "I suggest that you move, and fast. You're in my way, Young."

"That's the way I like it. You're going to have to deal with it. Hart," he couldn't resist tacking on, in his element now that he had utter control over the two. A smile that could only be termed malicious worked its way across his lips.

Mesmerized by the weapon only a short arms-length away, Trixie stopped listening. She could disarm him easily. There was only one hitch. Ritch. He was armed, too. And Jim's back was to him. It didn't take much imagination for her to realize that he wouldn't have any qualm about putting a bullet or two into Jim's back. She quickly discarded her plan, an uncomfortable scowl settling on her forehead. She could not…no, she would not put Jim in any danger. As much as it pained her to do it, as much as she hated curbing her impatient streak, she'd have to do it. She was stuck waiting on Max.

"I'd like the disc." Mr. Young snapped his fingers, bringing Trixie's attention back to him. "Now."

Jim didn't waste a second before replying, his emerald eyes an intriguing combination of frigid and fire, "Disc? What disc?"

Acting confused while inwardly fuming, Mr. Young first tapped one ear, then the other. "Are you trying to be funny? Because if you are, it's not working. Now I'm going to ask you again. Do you have the disc with you?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." Jim stood tall, unwilling to move, refusing to flinch.

Mr. Young half-way pivoted, turning the force of his glare onto Ritch. Anger was practically rolling off of him in nearly tangible waves. "Do you hear him, Ritch? He's still trying to play us."

He was much more adept at keeping control of his emotions than his boss was. With a nonchalance he wasn't feeling, Ritch arched a single eyebrow. "I heard, Mr. Young. I can't believe it but I've come to the same conclusion. Never expected it from him, though." He lifted a shoulder before suggesting with an evil smirk, "Sounds to me like you may want to use one of my ideas right about now. I'm game if you are."

A loud growl, inarticulate and impressive, ripped from his throat. "No way in hell." While Jim spoke softly, everyone felt the threat behind his words.

"Disc, then," Mr. Young whirled back to him, hand-outstretched. "Now. That's all I care about it."

Right now Mr. Young was blocking the only person he cared about from his view. Jim gestured in her direction, wishing he could just see her again. "I'll give you the damn disc," he spat out, keeping control of his fury with a super-human effort. "But before I do that, I want Trixie. Now."

Mr. Young couldn't help it. He threw back his head. The room echoed with his laughter, its sound both unpleasant and repulsive. When his round of dark merriment finally died down, he declared through a gasping breath, "I've got to hand it to you, Hart. You have much more audacity that I ever gave you credit for."

"All I want is Trixie," Jim reiterated fiercely, his eyes shining with the truth of it. "That's all. I don't give a damn about the disc or the money or anything else. All I want is her."

Deciding there couldn't be any harm in giving in to the small, trivial demand, especially when he was armed and they were not, Mr. Young finally stepped off to the side and patted her shoulder. "You've got her. Go to him, my dear."

Trixie was out of the chair like a shot, hardly able to believe their good fortune. No matter what happened next, at least they were going to be together. Warm, welcoming arms quickly wrapped around her, brought her to his side, while a set of lips brushed a quick, comforting kiss along her forehead. Pure bliss in the midst of hell. She allowed herself one moment to savor. As much as she liked being with him, she had to find out more. "What are you doing here?" she demanded ever so quietly, for his ears only.

"Do you really have to ask?" he shot back, resting his head on top of hers, taking a moment from the dangerous situation they were in to breathe in the sweet fragrance that was her.

"I do have to ask," she countered quietly, her eyes closing when he nuzzled against her. A small sigh escaped, making her almost forget that they were, well, in trouble. "I didn't call you. You're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be in the suite. You're supposed to be safe."

"Safe down there while you're up here," he scoffed gently, with a small shake of his head and another brush of his lips against her cheekbone, along the mark someone's hand had dared to make on his girl. Retribution shone in his eyes before he blinked it away. "Don't think so."

"Yeah, well, now we're both in danger," she parlayed just as softly, unsure whether she should be happy or furious over his decision to come to her aid. It was completely unexpected, a startling choice for him to have made, especially considering their history together. Impulsive, impetuous, something she would most certainly have done as a teenager, but very uncharacteristic of one James Winthrop Frayne II. It left her feeling both floored and flummoxed. Ah, to hell with it, she thought. If she was being honest with herself, she was delighted he'd come for her. With arms twining around his neck, she spoke one word into his ear, "Max?"

Jim dropped his head on top of hers. His answer was unapologetic, showing her what she'd already begun to suspect. He'd acted completely on his own. "I don't know."

Trixie couldn't hide a shocked gasp. As intriguing as the notion was, she had to focus on her professional side and push all emotions aside. Anything was possible now. Any damn thing. Help could be right around the corner; chaos could be started. Or Max could have the team waiting in the wings, wanting to give them a chance to settle the issue now that there were two people involved. And one of them was an untrained civilian. Her superior wasn't left with any sort of a good decision. She tightened her hold on Jim, vowing that she would do anything to keep him from getting hurt, no matter what happened. As had been the truth since he'd inserted himself into this farce of a mission, he was her first priority. Everything else was secondary.

"Enough with the reunion; heartwarming though it may be." Mr. Young's sarcastic voice cut through the room. He tapped his watch, signaling an end to their private time together. As the two turned to face him, he duly noted that while the embrace ended, they hadn't stopped holding onto each other. "I've lived up to my end of the bargain. It's your turn now, Hart. You've got your wife. Now I want my disc."

Jim smiled, a dangerously slow smile, one Trixie had never seen him employ before. For some unknown reason she found it undeniable sexy, an insane emotion to be experiencing during such a tense time. "It's not here," he admitted before bringing Trixie protectively against his side.

What the hell was he doing? Antagonizing the enemy was not going to get them anywhere. Trixie shifted slightly, putting herself between the two angry men in front of them in a desperate attempt to afford Jim all the protection that she could, which, admittedly, wasn't very much.

"Where is it, then?" With his supply of patience rapidly diminishing, Mr. Young repeated, _"Where the hell is it?"_

"Not here." One phrase, one short phrase only, and it was uttered in the type of tone that broached no further arguments or questions. Trixie glanced up at him through her lashes, surprised, pleased and strangely delighted with the way he was playing things out. It could all turn sour on the quick flip of a dime but…he was showing a side to him she'd never expected to see. A dark, daring side. She couldn't help but love it, and him, even more. "Not with me."

Mr. Young actually took a step back, confused by the turn of events. It wasn't going the way he'd planned it. The Harts were supposed to be begging for their freedom. They weren't supposed to be making a bid for the driver's seat. They were supposed to be groveling. Preferably at his feet. Through a thick glower filled with disgust, he declared, "I listened to your wife's side of the conversation when she called you, Hart. I'm not holding your failings against her. She was very clear. You are the one who failed. You needed to bring the disc here. And I need it. Now."

"Well, I don't have it." Jim knew what he was doing, and knew that he was doing it very well. He wanted their attention, wanted them to get mad at him. With that in mind, he once again tucked Trixie back to his side even as he felt her dig her heels in to stay in front of him. All the while he understood what she was attempting to do. She was trying to protect him. He wasn't going to have that. As far as he was concerned, their anger and frustration needed to come his way, not hers.

"Jim," Trixie muttered warningly. As unobtrusively as possible, she slipped out from under his arm and moved again to his front. She wrapped her hands around his thighs, her fingers digging in tight, proving to him that she wasn't going to move from her spot.

Clearly irritated, Mr. Young contemplated the pair. He didn't like being played. He despised being disobeyed. He especially loathed surprises. These two, through some odd quirk of fate, were managing to surprise the hell out of him, and on all accounts. He didn't find it amusing. Wanting to regain control, he picked up his equalizer, ran a finger along its barrel, and inquired through clenched teeth, "Where is the disc?"

With her eyes on the gun, Trixie stepped on Jim's foot, an unspoken order to keep his mouth shut, and took control. "You've got to forgive him. Jim couldn't bring it," she began, her words tumbling out quickly. Not knowing if she was damning them or saving him, she hastily added, "He couldn't. You see, I've had it with me all along."

Surprised, his hand clenched tightly around her waist. "What are you doing?" Jim growled in her ear.

Trixie didn't respond. Entrenched firmly in her role, she went on to explain, "I didn't want to give it to you earlier. I thought…well, I thought it would be better to keep it in my possession. You know, for insurance or something like that." A light, tinkling laugh bubbled out, one tinted with the slightest strain of hysteria, proof that the entirety of the night's events were starting to take their toll on her. "So…so, Jim couldn't have brought it with him. You can't get mad at him. It'd be stupid too, especially since it's already here."

Yet another surprise. "So now you want to give it to me," Mr. Young inferred, his attention focused squarely on the blonde.

"Yes!" exploded out of Trixie. "But I want something in return."

"You're in no place for making any sort of a bargain," Mr. Young smugly countered her. Believing he was firmly back in control, he let the gun rest at his side. "Neither of you are."

"I know. I know," Trixie swiftly agreed, not wanting to provoke him when it seemed like he was beginning to calm down. "All I ask is for you to let us go. After we give you the disc, of course," she tacked on hurriedly, hoping to placate yet knowing he'd never agree to the terms.

"Safe and sound, I presume," Mr. Young added with just the right hint of sarcasm.

She could feel the sweat starting to bead on her forehead. He wasn't going to let them go…at least, not until he was satisfied that he'd been paid back. In spades, for the double-cross they'd attempted to pull on him. Taking in a deep breath, trying to beat back the frazzlement that threatened to claim her brain, she nodded her head vigorously. Her curls bounced with the movement. "That's it. It's simple. So simple. We give you the disc and you let us walk out the door. No harm, no foul. We'll tell the NSA we lost the disc, deal with any fall-out from them, then catch the red-eye to LA, and be back home by tomorrow morning."

NSA? What the hell was that? The question formed on his lips. About to ask, Jim smoothed away his momentary confusion and swallowed a sharp gasp of pain as Trixie dug her heel into his foot again. With a sarcastic roll of his eyes, he figured it must be her way of keeping him silent. She'd used it often enough during their week together. Considering the circumstances, he obediently followed her unspoken directive and tabled the question for later.

"Sounds fair." Mr. Young ignored the unhappy glare coming from his right-hand man. "How about you hand the disc over to me? Then we'll discuss the exact time you get to leave my penthouse. "

Yeah, it was definite. He had no plans in letting them leave any time soon. Trixie chewed on her bottom lip. "That's the best you can do, huh?"

"'Fraid so," Mr. Young agreed with sham sympathy. He found it interesting when the two shared an intense look with each other before she spoke again.

"All right," Trixie said after a moment, unable to do anything but agree. She gestured towards her purse. "I'll get the disc. It's in my purse."

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?" Mr. Young wondered aloud. "Stay right where you are, Mrs. Hart. I'll be glad to retrieve the disc for you. All you've got to do is tell me where I can find it."

_Lovely._ With hopes of gaining control of her weapon fading away, Trixie wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her skirt. "It's in my cosmetics case," she answered, hanging her head just a little to pretend defeat.

"Hmm. I see." True to his word, Mr. Young sauntered over to the table to get her purse. Whistling a cheerful rendition of a famous Elvis Presley song about the beautiful city they were in, he pawed through the contents, and grinned like a fool when he found the cosmetics case. He held it aloft, like it was a prized trophy, and pivoted around. "Well, look-ee here. I've got it!"

"Yes, you do." Trixie leaned against Jim's chest, aware that they had lost their one and only bargaining chip. But they weren't defeated. Not by a long shot. They still had a major ace in the hole. She only wished Max would make his presence known sometime in the near future. Judging by the tight way Jim held onto her, she guessed that he must be feeling the same amount of frustration.

Mr. Young glanced down at the feminine object. Eagerly, he flicked open the case, only to glare at the colorful display of make-up staring back at him. Wondering if she had lied, he stated through clenched teeth, "There's no disc in here. It's just make-up."

Hearing the impatience in his tone, she quickly explained, "It's hidden. Underneath."

It took a few fumbling attempts. His larger fingers weren't adept at opening the tiny latch. Seconds later he found the hidden compartment, let the tray of make-up fall to the floor without a second glance, and stared down at the circular item residing safely inside, hardly daring to believe that it was really there. "Well, would you look at that? It seems our dear Mrs. Hart was correct."

Ritch waited until the shiny disc was out of its case. Shaking his bald head, he muttered to himself, "To think she carried it with her all this time. No small wonder we couldn't find it when we searched their room."

Admiring it, Mr. Young watched, elated, as the light reflected off it, making it shimmer with a beauty he couldn't help but appreciate. "Very pretty. Now we need to test it, make certain it is the real deal and not a fake." He shot a warning look at his guests. "It had better not be a fake."

"You don't have to worry. It's real. I give you my word on it." Letting her head fall back on his chest, she let out a small sigh of contentment, which Jim acknowledged by hugging her tightly against him.

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't immediately take your word for it," Mr. Young sneered at the couple. After thrusting the disc towards Ritch, he ordered before stalking off, "See if it's real."

Pausing five feet from the couple, Mr. Young studied them with a long, cool assessing stare. Normally it would make his enemies quiver in their shoes. Not this couple. The man returned it with an equal fervor. And the woman…she seemed to be staring down her nose. _At him_. He found it inconceivable. Since he despised the inconceivable, he chose to ignore it. "Is it real?" he snarled at Ritch.

"Holy hell," Ritch answered back, pleased by the disc's contents. He lifted his head, a large grin spreading across his face as the program opened up on his computer in all its high-tech glory. He repeated his words in his mind, only with a few more imaginative oaths thrown in. He watched, a speculative gleam tinted with greed to his eyes, as Mr. Young faced off against their guests. "The disc is truly a thing of beauty. Everything's right here, right in front of me." A little smirk curved his lips. "Mr. Young, I think…well, I know you are going to be very…surprised."

He didn't spare his employee a single glance. "Excellent, Ritch. Now that leaves us with just one small, tiny little problem." Once again he overlooked the waves of blatant defiance coming his way. The redhead and the blonde were braver, more courageous, then he'd given them credit for. Stupid, certainly, but it was there. He wondered at the best course of action, how he could have them taken down a peg or two. Since their biggest weakness seemed to be their feelings for each other, he found himself reluctantly agreeing with Ritch's earlier assessment. With a small glint to his eyes that should have been teasing but came across as cruel, he inquired aloud, "What are we going to do with the two of you?"


	36. Chapter 36

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Thirty-Six

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

The threat lingered, sharp and deadly, hidden just beyond the softly uttered words. Trixie drew in a deep breath, desperate to bring more attention her way, and hopefully leave Jim out of the limelight. She didn't know what she was going to say. Something soft and pleading; something defiant and scathing. The words formed on her lips. About to utter them, a soft, disturbing and easily distinguishable _pop _disturbed the sudden tense silence engulfing the terrace.

"What the…" Distracted, unable to comprehend what had just happened, Mr. Young glanced down. His eyes bulged out in almost comedic disbelief. A steady stream of blood started to seep through the tiny hole in his chest. It took a millisecond for the truth to sink in. He'd been shot. Somehow, he'd been shot. Then he staggered and desperately reached out for something to hold onto before he lost the ability to stand. The back of a chair offered a modicum of momentary relief. He held onto it with a death grip. It couldn't handle his weight; couldn't keep him up. It wasn't strong enough, just like his body wasn't strong enough to support him any longer. With a loud gasp, his grip slipped. The chair toppled off to the side as he followed it. They both landed in an untidy heap on the pretty tiled floor.

With her mouth gaping open, Trixie stared in shock as rich red blood began decorating the tiles. A quick shake of her head brought her back to her senses. Quickly, she glanced in the direction the gunshot had come from and aimed an unpleasant sneer in the culprit's direction. Keeping a sharp eye out on him, she grabbed a set of plush towels from a nearby stand and rushed forward, immediately offering help to the pale, shaking, and scared man. All the while she was aware of the overwhelming irony of the situation. Mr. Young wouldn't have hesitated to inflict serious pain on either her or Jim. And he wouldn't have lifted a finger to assist them, before, during or afterwards. Now here she was, helping him. Because it was the inherent part of her she inwardly termed the Bob-White way, she knew that she would never be able to tolerate watching him suffer without attempting to do something. Murmuring hushed words of encouragement to the man who'd up until a minute ago had been their enemy, she started pushing a towel against the gaping wound.

A shadow she instantly recognized covered her. "What can I do?" Jim asked aloud, eyeing her with admiration as she competently worked to stem the flow of blood.

"Cushions," Trixie ordered curtly, jabbing a finger in the direction of the fallen chair. While she worked, she kept part of her attention focused on the other occupant in the room, wondering when he was going to either interrupt their help or attempt to put a bullet in them.

Jim tugged one, hard. He broke the ties that wanted to keep it attached to the seat and grabbed another cushion for good measure. Aware of what she wanted him to do with them, he pushed away the chair and came around Mr. Young. With more care than he wanted to exhibit, he put it gently underneath the older man's head and bit back a sigh. It wouldn't make the downed man all that comfortable. Nothing would; except the assistance of highly trained medical professionals. "You're doing well, Trix," he said encouragingly and was rewarded with her quick smile.

"You…you…" Mr. Young reached out, covered her hand with his. His voice was weak, as was his touch, yet it sounded amazed, to both of them. "You're helping me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Trixie muttered in response, concentrating more on her attempt at first aid than anything else. She accepted a clean towel from Jim, pressed it up against the wound, and glanced wildly around for something to tie around the towels, to add more pressure and hopefully halt the flow of blood. But nothing was visible. She settled for yet another towel instead. Knowing they were doing all that they could, she looked at Jim, ready to voice the question on what they should try next. The sounds of approaching footsteps brought her back to reality with a harshness she'd hoped to avoid.

A lowly-whistled tune covered the sounds of his footsteps, a sound much too chipper and cheerful to be utilized at a scene such as this. Ritch started forward, towards his former employer, the gun in his hands, and a ruthless feel to his stride. He spared an amused glance at the two clustered around the downed man, working furiously to save him. He shook his head in feigned sympathy and offered the paling man at his feet a little bow. "I must offer you my deepest apologies, Eric. It's nothing personal, you understand."

Each breath was getting harder and harder to maintain, was taking more and more of an effort to make. While not an expert marksman by any stretch, Mr. Young knew enough to realize that Ritch had not given him an immediate death blow. He wasn't going to die…yet. He found the strength to glare at his old right-hand man. Condemnation poured forth, infecting his words, twisting his lips. "I trusted you."

"Clearly, your mistake." Ritch lifted a shoulder, not the least bit disturbed by the results of his actions or the ugly swirl of confusion on Mr. Young's face. Ignoring his former employer, he turned to the two witnesses in the room. He was only half-finished with his plan. They still had a part left to play, a vital part. At least, it was vital to him. He rubbed the barrel of the silencer under his chin and, since he'd always liked the looks of the woman, decided to speak to her instead of the man, "Before my bullet met Mr. Young, he brought up a very good question. What is going to happen to you and your husband?"

"You let us go," Trixie suggested breathlessly, her hands as steady as her voice, although she knew he'd never accept her suggestion. "We didn't see anything. We don't know a thing. We promise we won't say a word. Ever. You can count on us. Really. You can. Right, Jim?"

"Whatever she says. We didn't see a damn thing." Jim tightened his grip on Trixie's shoulder, already aware that he shouldn't allow Ritch to have any sort of access to his girl. In the short time that they'd known him, the man had more than made it clear what his intentions were towards her. He'd see the bastard in hell first.

Ritch appeared to give their answer some consideration. Then he gave a sorrowful shake of his head and released a resigned sigh. "As charming as your idea is, I just don't think it's going to work out. You see, I'd find it very hard to trust you."

Mr. Young drew in a sharp intake of breath at the word _trust_. "You're a fine one to talk about trust," he whispered faintly, with sweat starting to bead on his forehead and pain on his face.

"That's why I can recognize a lie when I see one." Skirting around Mr. Young, whose eyes were beginning to glaze, he stopped by the table and picked up a wineglass. Without any thought for a man who may be dying merely a foot away from him, he downed the last of its contents. "Excellent vintage," he remarked in a jovial undertone towards Mr. Young. "As usual, my compliments to the connoisseur."

She suppressed a shudder. Ritch was a much more dangerous enemy than she'd ever expected him to be. "We really won't tell anyone," Trixie reiterated fiercely, dying for the chance to get her hands on a gun. Any gun. "We can call for an ambulance, get Mr. Young some help, and then get out of your way. If anyone should happen to ask us a question, we can simply say that Mr. Young was cleaning his gun and it backfired on him." She bit her bottom lip, already knowing that her suggestion wasn't going to be accepted. "It's so simple. It would work."

"Simple, maybe. Practical…eh...not so much. At least, not from my vantage point." Ritch gestured towards the gathered group with the empty wineglass. "I do find it curious that you're willing to help out Mr. Young, though. You do realize that he wasn't going to let either of you walk away from tonight's meeting unharmed, right, Mrs. Hart?"

Yeah, she'd suspected as much. What she hadn't counted on was a swift, and undeniably shocking, change in the playing field. It threw her off track. She only wished that Max and the damn back-up team would arrive. Sooner would be much better than later. Momentarily forgetting that she should be simpering instead of snappish, she shot back, "He's a human being. He needs help."

Ritch's eyebrows lifted, taken aback by the forcefulness of her delivery, while he stated another universal truth. "He wouldn't have helped you. Or your husband. Revenge was what he had in mind. Isn't that right, Eric?" Ritch nudged the man's leg with the tip of his toes and grinned at the series of small moans coming from him.

Knowing it was best to ignore the insinuation, especially since the once-planned situation definitely was not going to occur, Trixie turned her back on Ritch and placed the last of the fresh towels against Mr. Young's chest. "There," she spoke lowly, as comforting as possible. "I think that should do it. At least, for now."

"Th…thank you." The effort to voice the words took most of his strength. Still breathing, but with considerably less energy, Mr. Young laid his back on the cushions and closed his eyes, in desperate need to search out some peace from the all-encompassing pain.

Having not taken his gaze off of their newest enemy, Jim reached down for Trixie. When she made a sound to protest, he shook his head. "We can't do anything more right now, Trix," he whispered urgently, more concerned with Ritch and the dangerous vibes bouncing off of him than with the care of the injured man.

Still kneeling, she wiped her sweaty, blood-covered hands on the front of her skirt. Taking a deep breath, she looked back down at Mr. Young and apologized sincerely, "I truly am sorry. I wish we could do more."

"Watch out…for Ritch. Trixie," Mr. Young murmured through lips starting to thin. He wanted to warn her, a way to help her as she had assisted him.

"I will," she replied quietly. Accepting Jim's arm, she slowly rose to her feet. She aimed a sharp glance around the room, searching out any sign of Max or his team. Nothing. Just three closed doors…She inhaled sharply. Oh, God. And a row of glass windows. She looked out into the dead of the Las Vegas night, knowing with absolute clarity what Max had done. Forces had been mobilized. They were out there. Feeling lighter, she pivoted around on her heels, to face the man watching them.

Never relinquishing his own weapon, Ritch brought his hands together in a mockery of applause. "Excellent show, Hart. Mrs. Hart. It surely touched me. Right here." He thumped a hand over his heart, attempted to look downtrodden and failing miserably. "Such a shame that it's all for nothing."

"I don't understand what you mean," she responded, the blue of her eyes piercingly bright. Her fingers tapped against her thigh while she kept her attention focused on him.

"This." He spread his arms out, encompassing the whole of the show before him. "Eric Young is going to die, you know. He's not going to get the medical services that he so desperately needs. I'm certainly not going to call for help any time soon. You're certainly not in any position to call." He picked up the cordless phone, tossed it a good ten feet away from them where it landed on the floor and broke in a loud clatter of plastic. "By the time help finally arrives, you and your husband will take the blame."

So he was planning on pinning the murder on them. Not bad as plans went, Trixie mused to herself, starting to piece together Ritch's thought processes. If she was grading it, she'd give him a C minus. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't considered all the avenues, was obviously working more on impulse than brains. And he had some serious tunnel vision right now. He wasn't seeing the big picture. Wanting to engage Ritch in conversation for as long as possible, she inquired, "I don't understand you. How are we going to blamed for…this? We didn't shoot Mr. Young. In fact, we've tried to save him."

"Seriously? You want a monologue?" He let out a low, unpleasant laugh, the kind that made her feel dirty just for listening to it.

"No, no," she immediately disagreed, her tone calm and placating. _Just keep him talking. _It ran through her mind. She needed to gather all the information that she could. And they needed all the time that she could buy them. With that in mind, she forced a tiny little giggle. "We're curious, that's all."

"Well, we do have a little time. Only a little, mind you," he assured them, a mockery of a grin splitting his face in two.

Trixie felt more than saw Jim tense up behind her. Suspecting that he wanted to take charge of the conversation, she once again stepped on his foot, halting the flow of words that Ritch would find inciting. Ritch, she understood, would much rather speak to her, not to Jim. He'd either shut down or do something much worse if Jim attempted to insert himself into the conversation. She needed to keep him talking, to either defuse the situation, if at all possible, or to allow her co-workers their chance to finally break through. "Why did you shoot Mr. Young?"

He lifted an eyebrow, surprised by the directness of the question. Although, when he really thought about it, being surprised wasn't such an unusual emotion for him to be experiencing. She'd been surprising him ever since he'd unveiled his plans. He'd been expecting endless cowering and annoying pleas for mercy, not the cool, untainted blue staring back at him. It left him disconcerted. "You haven't figured it out yet, Mrs. Hart?" Making a small tsking sound, he shook his head. "I think it should be fairly obviously by now."

She shot a look at Jim over her shoulder, ordering him without words to stay quiet when he tensed up. "Enlighten us."

Completing ignoring Jim, which was exactly how he preferred it, Ritch looked directly entirely on her. "It's the perfect time, the perfect opportunity, the perfect chance. The perfect everything. You see, I've been waiting for a chance such as this for a very long time. I couldn't let it slip by me. It's destiny."

Jim slipped a hand around her waist. He held on, tight, and broke her unspoken command without regret. "How's it perfect?"

Instantly, a pair of eyes leveled on him, deadly, dark, and extremely dangerous. "I'm not talking to you," Ritch growled out, thoroughly displeased with the interruption.

And she was most definitely right. "No, you're talking to me." Trixie fixed as wide of a smile as she could make on her face, hoping to pacify. "You were telling me about your plans…you know, for tonight…and what made it so…um…perfect." She giggled, a nervous, helpless sort of a sound, and watched with some relief as Ritch finally stopped glaring at Jim and turned back to face her. Even though the simple motion made her stomach want to turn, she batted her eyes. "There's got to be a reason. I'd love to hear it."

He thought he detected flattery in the motion, in the tone, in her eyes. Never one to overlook it, he puffed his chest out. "No one's here. No one. The butler's been given the evening off. Ginny's out and about, doing whatever she does to keep herself entertained. She won't be back until the wee hours of the morning. Every other employee was deployed to another part of Vegas. Eric didn't want any witnesses to tonight's festivities. It's just us. The four of us. No one else is here." Pleased that it was working out so well in his favor, Ritch let a slow, satisfied smile work its way across his face. "Since I plan on being the only one of us to leave this room alive, I'll be the one to tell the police what happened. They'll have to believe me. There won't be anyone left to discount my word."

Trixie took a step back so there wasn't an ounce of air left between herself and Jim. Matter-of-factly she stated, "So, you do plan on killing us, then."

"Oh, it's a foregone conclusion," he replied without a bit of contrition or apology. "I'll say it's self-defense, of course, and stick as close to the truth as I can. You two were here, trying to shake down Mr. Young for more money for an item you were trying to sell him. When the deal went bad, you fired on him. Unfortunately for poor Mr. Young, he died before help could arrive." He heaved a small sigh, ruined it with a cheerful little wink. "And, being the kind, considerate, and loyal employee that I am, I had no choice. After I saw what you did, I immediately took matters into my own hands."

Trixie stared as he held up the gun, the potential murder weapon of one Eric Young, and placed it on the table. Curious, she frowned as he knelt down, wondering what he was going to do next. With ease, he slipped out a gun out from a holster strapped to his calf. Another weapon. Her eyes grew wide while she nodded once in understanding. He wasn't going to use the gun he'd shot Mr. Young with. No, he was planning on killing them with the new one. Not bad, she thought dispassionately, upgrading his plan to a C plus. However, it still wouldn't work.

"Totally believable," he continued, unaware of the rapid-fire thoughts circulating through Trixie's mind or how quickly law enforcement would poke holes in his story. "I'll tell the police everything. How you came here to sell Eric Young an illegal disc, how the deal turned bad, and about your…ah…criminal actions. No one will ever suspect what really happened. I'll get off, scot-free. And the only people who will ever know will be six feet under."

The ugly light in his eyes forced her to swallow back her next words, ones that threatened to poke vicious holes in his plans. Gun-shot residue, rebuilding a crime scene, estimated time of death, their supposed connection to the NSA…all things that would easily disprove his story. But pointing out the many flaws in his plan wouldn't help them. No, it would only rouse his anger. The last thing she wanted to do was make him angry. Keeping that in mind, she spoke quietly and noted, "And you'd get to keep the disc."

Ritch put his hands in his back pockets, cocked up one edge of his lips, and rocked back and forth on his heels. "Yeah. The disc is mine, Eric Young is dead, and the two of you would be held responsible. Sounds like an okay deal to me, all in all."

Sounded more like a circle in hell to her. She put her hand around Jim's waist, felt a familiar object in his pocket. Wide eyes flew to his before she dropped her gaze. "Your cell?" she questioned lowly under her breath.

"No. Yours," he mumbled back through clenched lips, unable to take any attention off of the man in front of him. The crazy vibes ricocheting off Ritch seriously worried him now. And the way he kept looking at Trixie…yeah, it was enough to enflame his temper. He flexed his hand, wanting action.

She shuffled even closer to Jim, feeling oddly calmer now than she had before. There wasn't a single doubt left in her mind now. Max knew exactly what was going on. In fact, she'd bet everything she had that he was on the other side of the door, listening in and waiting, just waiting, for the best chance to break in and take control. And he definitely had mobilized a sniper team, one that was already watching them through the thick glass. Breathing easier, she tossed out another question, needing to distract the man and give Max all the information he could need, "What do you want with the disc?"

"If it's ever safe to sell it, I'll see to that, pocket the cash. If I do, great for me. But I don't care all that much. I've been siphoning off Eric's bank accounts for a while now so there's no hurry to ever sell it. All I want is money. Even without selling it, I've still managed to build up a nice little nest egg over the years." He flipped open the barrel of the gun, more to terrify than anything else, and counted the bullets inside. He had all he needed. "I don't have designs on much. Certainly nothing that nefarious."

Nothing that nefarious. God, the man had no conscience. If he was willing to take three lives, he most definitely had designs. And on more than he was sharing with them. Speaking calmly, she inferred, "So money is your objective. It's got to be very important to you."

"Damn right." He snapped the bullets back in. "This whole disc thing is merely a means to an end. I've been looking for the right way to get rid of Eric for a while. Finally, tonight, it all came together. I couldn't resist this opportunity. It's golden. I've got him down, I've got you and your husband to take the fall, and no one's around to know the true truth. You see?" He glanced up, looked at them through conscienceless eyes. "It's fool proof."

"You're…a….bastard," Mr. Young found the strength from within to call out, his eyes once again open and a glare on his face, although his words were sounding more slurred than they had a few minutes earlier.

"So what if I am? Big deal." Feeling immensely satisfied with how the evening was turning out, Ritch let the unflattering term roll off of him. What did it matter? He was in control. The only one in control. The others were mere patsies, ready to play the parts he'd hastily assigned them. When all was said and done, he'd be the only one to walk away. Anticipation ate away at him. He couldn't wait to make it happen. "At least I'm alive and all my blood's where it's supposed to be. You can't say that much right now, can you, Eric?"

Before Ritch could get distracted, Trixie infused her voice with as much pleading as she could. "There's got to be something we could do. Isn't there?"

Shrewdly, he whipped his head around, gazed at her with what someone could almost term pity. "I'm afraid not. While I've certainly entertained thoughts of you, me, and what we could be like together, it's not going to happen. Unfortunately, I can't let myself get sidetracked."

"I didn't mean that!" Trixie remarked with the right amount of shock and horror. "I mean…money or something like that. Whatever we have, it's yours. All you've got to do is let us go."

A shake of his bald head was her answer. "Not negotiable," he insisted unapologetically, holding up his hand when he saw Jim was about to insert himself into the conversation. "Shut the hell up, Hart. I'm not interested in anything you have to say." He brought his gun up, gave him a speculative look, while one edge of his lip curved. "I don't mind chatting with your wife. You can just stay quiet."

It made Trixie shiver. She knew, without a doubt, that the first person he planned on shooting was Jim. She splayed her free hand out, held onto Jim's thigh, tightly. She wasn't about to let it happen. "All right. All right. I think I understand. There isn't anything we can do to prevent you from…umm…."

"Killing you?" he supplied helpfully when her voice gave out, obviously unwilling to voice his plans. "Nothing. Not a damn thing." He pinged a finger against the barrel, grinned evilly at Jim, and admitted to her fear, "Your husband's first, you know. You may want to give him a proper farewell before you two meet again in hell." Realizing he'd unintentionally rhymed, he chuckled, delighted with his sense of humor.

The man was cracking up. He had to be. The sounds coming out from his mouth were more in line with a devil than a human being. Decision made, Trixie whirled around quickly. She didn't have much time "You. Duck and go for cover. Now," she ordered, low and fierce, and prepared to force him if need be.

Jim pressed her to his side. "Not on your life," he insisted, a tick starting to work on the side of his forehead.

"Those are your orders," she shot back before nuzzling against his chest. Allowing herself one blissful second, she inhaled deeply. He smelled so damn good. Then she dropped back to remind him again in a low whisper, "I mean it. Find cover. Now."

He almost laughed. Almost. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he would have. Jim wrapped a strong arm around her waist, kissed her fiercely on the lips. He felt her go all warm and soft and reveled in the feel of it himself before he resolutely made his move, a move she clearly wasn't expecting. Lifting his mouth from hers, he quickly whirled her away and pushed her as gently as possible off to the side, well out of the line of fire and away from him. Then, he attacked, much quicker than she'd ever given him credit for.

She landed on the tile floor with a low _oomph_ of amazement, her back to the action, and an unhappy scowl on her face. Blonde curls flopped over her forehead, covering her view. Swearing inwardly, she impatiently brushed them back. About to let loose with a fierce growl, Trixie flinched as another gunshot rang through the terrace. This one wasn't muffled by a silencer. It reverberated around the room, made her heart stop and fear threaten to swamp her. _Don't let it be Jim. Don't let it be Jim. For God's sake, don't let it be Jim!_ It became a litany, one that played itself over and over through her mind in the time it took her to push herself to her knees. Grabbing the nearest chair for support, she pulled herself up, blue eyes bright with fear, and found the fight.

Jim felt more than saw her stand up. He cursed. Wishing she'd stayed down, he gave a short, hard jab to his opponent's mid-section, nearly chuckled at the answering low moan of pain, and then made a grab for the gun, which had fallen out of Ritch's grip after he'd accidentally discharged it. The weapon had skidded along the floor; now lay a good five feet away, underneath a chaise lounge that had been overturned.

Ignoring fresh blood trailing from a thick cut to his lip, Ritch sucked in deeply. When the mound of male fury momentarily ceased pounding him and turned away, he aimed a kick at the wide back. While it wasn't a solid kick, it worked to give him a few much-needed inches from the man, as well as allow him some much-needed freedom. "Stupid move," he sneered through a fat lip. "Very stupid."

Instantly, Jim rolled into a crouched position, aware that he'd been detoured from retrieving the gun. It also pleased him to note that he wasn't having any trouble controlling his breathing, unlike his opponent. He sprang again, going for Ritch's knees. Once again, he took the other man by surprise and knocked him back, flat on the tiled ground. He found some sense of satisfaction when Ritch's head cracked against the floor.

Wanting, no, needing to be part of the action, Trixie pushed a set of chairs out of the way, widening the arena for the two men scuffling on the floor. While she could have easily debilitated Ritch, she couldn't enter the fray, not without interrupting Jim and his fleet of flying fists. And, she had to admit to herself, she rather liked the looks of Jim taking care of the other man. She watched with avid interest until she heard a small moan coming from near her feet. As curious as always, she glanced down, surprised to see Mr. Young awake and aware.

"Trixie." He stared up at her. With what was left of his strength, he gestured towards his leg, wanting to offer help. "Trixie," he said again.

Confused, she leaned forward, keeping most of her attention focused on the action to make sure that Jim still had the upper hand in the fight. "What?" she mouthed quietly.

"G…gun," was his answer. Closing his eyes to ward off the pain, he used a limp hand to gesture once again to his leg.

Her eyes grew to twice their normal size. Hardly daring to believe their luck, she pushed the leg of his pants up, looked with amazement at the slim, black Beretta just begging for her to take ownership of. With a pleased grin, she slipped it out of its holster. The metal felt warm in her palm. Mumbling her thanks to her unexpected benefactor, she stood back up and confidently cocked her gun. Ritch, it seemed, was about to get an unpleasant surprise.

As much as he hated to admit it, Ritch recognized that the tide had more than turned. Knowing that he was on the losing end, he fought, both viciously and with serious intent to harm, only to find unforgiving air or apply a glancing blow that didn't harm Jim in the least. Finally, after one extremely punishing blow under his chin that made his head ring and stars pop out behind his closed lids, he reluctantly gave in. Sullenly, he made his body go lax, a bitter light to his eyes, and an impressive string of curse words fleeing from his lips. He'd been bested; he'd been beaten.

Finding no satisfaction in pounding on someone who wasn't fighting back, Jim stood up. After swiping a hand over his hair, mussing it even more than it already was, he put his hands on his hips and tried not to look too pleased. "I think he's had enough," he mumbled, ignoring the fresh bruise on his face and a few aches to his side.

"My hero," Trixie replied smoothly, her lips twitching. Keeping her gun trained on their fallen man, she added with a little laugh, "You did good...Hart."

Jim lifted his head, aimed his famous lopsided grin her way. Wanting to be near her, he moved around the enemy, made his way over to her. Dropping an arm around Trixie's shoulder, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'd offer to take the gun from you," he whispered near her ear. "But I know you're a much better shot than I am."

She couldn't help it. She giggled again. "For that, I'll forgive you for pushing me out of the way."

He had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry about that," he murmured, hating the shiver of guilt that snaked up his spine. Jim squeezed her side and reiterated fiercely, "I'm really sorry about that."

"Like I said. I'll forgive you." Turning her head, she tenderly touched the new bruise on his check. It was the only fresh mark Ritch had left on Jim. Leaning into him, she giggled again before admitting, "I have to. You see, I was already planning on doing something very similar to you. To get you out of the way, of course."

"I guess I beat you to it, then." Looking down into the beautiful blue eyes staring up at him, Jim let out a bark of laughter and grabbed her around the waist. Smiling, he rubbed his lips gently against hers. "I really am sorry, though."

As they only had eyes for each other, neither saw Ritch pick up a forgotten gun, the one that had slid underneath a table at the beginning of the fight. The one with a silencer on it. He pushed himself up, ignoring the aches and pains vividly blossoming through his body. Feeling vindicated, feeling victorious, feeling unbelievably fortunate, he sprang up, all ready to fire, taking only a second to enjoy the twin expressions of astonishment coming his way.

Trixie responded with the quickness she'd been trained with. Without hesitation, she lifted her own gun and pulled the trigger. As she was firing her shot, another bullet zoomed in, crashing through the glass windows, and caught Ritch right in the center of the forehead. Her bullet wasn't so well-aimed. It hit him in the shoulder, made the gun clutter to the floor. Ritch didn't have time to react. He toppled backwards, landed with a loud splash in the sparkling waters of the pool. Lowering her weapon, Trixie turned her head into the protection of Jim's shoulder, not wanting to watch the once pretty, pristine water change to an ugly shade of red. "Oh God," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut and laying her gun against her side. "Oh God."

"What the…How the hell…Where did…" Surprise didn't cover it. Jim glanced over her head, looking for the owner of the other bullet to step forward. No one did. He tilted his head to the side, confused because they were still the only ones left standing in the room.

"Sniper," she supplied immediately, her voice muffled by his shirt. She pointed in the direction the bullet had come from. "Thank goodness. Max came through. I knew he would. It must have killed him to have waited so long. He set up snipers around the building." She paused long enough to take a breath, then borrowed a fresh phrase from their now dead enemy, "The glass walls made it the…and pardon me for using this phrase….the perfect opportunity for such an attack."

The description was a little too close to Ritch's. Jim let out a small breath of air. "At least Max finally did something." He dropped his head onto hers, hardly daring to believe that the mess was finally over. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the sweet smell from her shampoo, and rubbed his chin over her soft curls. "We've been left alone for far too long."

"We made it, though. We made it through." Trixie grinned into his chest. Before Max and the rest of his team broke into the room, she stood up on her tiptoes and gripped his shirt. Hard. And then she pulled on it, making his head come down. Whispering against his lips, she declared throatily, "Let's actually enjoy it for a moment." Quickly, knowing they didn't have much time, she stood up on her tip-toes. With desperation riding her, she took his mouth in a swift, hot and passionate kiss, making both their heads swim and helping them momentarily forget what had just transpired in the room.

Then she drew apart. With great reluctance. But she understood now wasn't the time to indulge in her own desires. That was for later. "We'd better see to Mr. Young," she murmured, reluctantly taking a step back from Jim. She smiled once before stooping down to peel back the bloody towels from Mr. Young and replacing them with a fresh one. "He gave me his gun, you know," she told Jim over her shoulder.

Jim glanced around the room, taking note of where all the weapons had been scattered. "Nice of him to come through in the end," he muttered under his breath, not being able to drum up too much sympathy for the man. He purposefully didn't look in the direction of the water, having no desire to see what was left of Ritch floating there. "When do you think help will finally arrive?"

Trixie dropped back on her heels. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she hooked a thumb towards the terrace doors, ready to see her partner. About damn time, too. She opened her mouth, about to say something about how grateful she was that they'd managed to come out of the mission together and unharmed. But then the realization hit her, and it hit her hard. Their mission together was finished. A pang, vivid and searing, shot through her. She stubbornly ignored it. Later. She'd concentrate on it later. Her voice was whisper-soft and hoarse as she murmured, "Right about now."


	37. Chapter 37

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Normally cool, calm and collected, Max looked anything but as he scurried through the French doors. And scurry he did. It wasn't generally in his vocabulary, certainly something he normally didn't do. However, there was an air of desperation surrounding him that led to his almost frenzied pace. He needed to make certain his friend and fellow agent was all right. He searched her out first, inhaled sharply when he noted she was perfectly healthy, and then took in the state of the man standing proudly beside her. A little beat up, a little dented, a little bruised. Otherwise fine. Once he saw that they were relatively unharmed, the desperation dissipated into the cool central air, allowing him once again to don his super secret agent persona. He did so with the next steps he took and nodded once when she smiled back at him. Then he eyed the rest of the scene, taking it all in. It looked exactly as he'd expected it to while he'd been forced to wait on the outside, listening impatiently in the wings and dying to get a chance for some of the action. He hardly spared a glance for the dead man floating in the water; his only regret being that he hadn't been the one to fire the shot that'd killed him. Mr. Young took more of his attention. He knelt down by the now unconscious man, noted the pale skin, labored breathing and impressive pile of blood. He picked up the man's wrist, felt his pulse, and stated matter-of-factly, "Young's not looking so good."

"Help's on the way, right?" Trixie replied anxiously, wanting him to get all the help that he could possibly need. "He needs medical attention. You know, like ten minutes ago."

"Don't worry. It's on the way." As if on cue, two agents came through the doorway, dragging a gurney behind them. They'd make certain that Mr. Young was taken care of. He pointed at them. "And right on time, too."

Appreciative of the help, Trixie walked over to the bar and lathered her hands with soap, grateful to get rid of the blood on her hands. As she cleaned up, she couldn't help but think how excellent her agency's background checks were. While he may not be the nicest of guys and his morals were certainly questionable, especially when it came to his business dealings, Mr. Young kept his private life on the straight and narrow. No drugs, no extra-curricular activities of any kind, for himself or his wife. He was perfectly healthy, with nothing for her to worry about from the blood exposure, the only reason why she'd jumped in so quickly to assist him without proper medical supplies. Wiping her hands on a fresh towel, she looked over at Max and asked teasingly, "What took you so long?"

Max rocked back on his heels, one eyebrow lifted high, and stifled a chortle. The answer was simple. He jerked a thumb in the direction of Jim. The last time he'd seen him, the man had been in the suite downstairs and had been ordered to stay put. Obviously, Jim Frayne had a serious hearing problem. He didn't listen too well. "Do you really have to ask?"

Jim had the grace to flush. "Sorry," he muttered but he didn't sound apologetic. In fact, he didn't feel properly apologetic, either. How could he, when Trixie was safe? If anything, he was both pleased and proud to have helped her, even if his choice had impulsive, reckless and spontaneous written all over it. To him, it had been the right choice; in fact, the only choice.

"That's what I thought." Trixie chuckled slightly. She could only imagine what the scene in the suite had been like, once Jim had discovered she was in trouble. She doubted it had been pleasant. Thinking of their suite made her remember someone else, someone who was noticeably missing from their small group. Worried, she looked around the room to be certain, her lips turned down in a serious frown. "What's up with Dan? I'm surprised he didn't come up here with you. He doesn't like to miss out on stuff like this."

Max paused as Mr. Young was being wheeled away on a gurney to the living room for the agents to work on him and then crossed over to her, composed and in control and in direct contrast to the way he'd entered the room in the first place. "He was another thorn in my side," he answered with another pointed look at Jim, showing that he wasn't quite ready to fully forgive him yet. "Only not quite as pointy as that one standing over there. Right after I left, Mangan managed to get away from Shane. I had to send back three more members of our back-up team to…ah…assist him in returning to the room. From what I understand, it wasn't an easy endeavor. They decided it would be best to stay and watch over him." Sighing, he dragged a hand through his dark hair. "I haven't been in touch with Shane or the others recently but I don't imagine it was an enjoyable assignment."

Trixie couldn't help it. Her lips twitched. _Enjoyable_ wouldn't be the word to describe it. Then a giggle escaped her before she could prevent it. Covering her mouth, she giggled again and managed to get out before she started full-out laughing, "You should probably let them know that everything's okay."

"I probably should," Max admitted and pulled out his cell, while the sound of her delighted chuckles forced him to grin, too. Really, it must have been an amusing sight. He sent out a quick text, informing Shane that the mission was over and they were now fast approaching flight mode. He imagined Shane was going to be delighted when he read it, especially since he'd also been given the task of getting Dan out of the hotel and to their escape vehicle. "There. That should do it."

Jim lifted his head, watched with interest as other people began descending onto the scene. Members of their agency, he accurately deduced. He studied how quickly they started working, amazed at how swift and organized they were. They seemed to be everywhere. And none of them were looking their way or were paying them the least amount of attention possible. All were busy on their assigned jobs. He touched Trixie on the shoulder and whispered quietly, "What's happening now?"

"Clean-up crew," Max answered for her. "Due to the nature of the events that occurred here, I mobilized them quicker than normal. They're going to clean up this mess, make it look like something entirely different happened here. It's their job."

Both of his eyebrows shot up. Jim filed away the term for future questioning and watched the clean-up crew with more interest. Two of them pulled Ritch out of the water. Others started righting the tables and chairs and then began wiping them down with a substance he was positive wasn't offered to the general public. The bloody towels were already out of sight, taken away from the scene. Guns were confiscated, as was the laptop. The pace was fast and furious but not frenetic, with no one seeming to take a break, and no spot in the room left untouched. It was seriously impressive. "Clean-up crew, huh?" he mumbled under his breath.

"They're amazing. You won't be here to see how speedily they put the room in order." Since they didn't require an audience, Max grabbed Trixie's arm, and started leading her away from the scene and towards the far door. He knew Jim would obediently fall into step and didn't bother to order him to join them. Glancing over his shoulder, he informed them, "In about ten minutes this room will resemble something completely different from the way it looks right now."

Trixie correctly interpreted the confused expression on Jim's face. She quickened her pace to match Max's and asked before Jim could question him further, aware that they didn't have much time left, "What's the official story going to be?"

Anticipating the question, Max began with the simplest information, "We've already gained control of the surveillance system and are currently working on recreating the surveillance tapes. It was a very complicated system, more than any of us expected it to be. It took some time to tap into it but our techs were finally successful. Nothing was recorded from the time Jim entered the penthouse. Now I've got them working toward the vision I've created." He pushed a few buttons on his cell to check their progress. "Hmm. Appears that they should be finishing shortly."

"Good. That's good." Trixie blew at a stray curl, tried to ignore the thrill that shot through her when Jim slipped an arm around her waist. It was difficult but she managed to stay focused on her superior. "But you didn't tell me the cover story. What is it?"

Because he adored her, he overlooked the pinkening of her cheeks and the reason for it standing behind her. Instead, he shared the story, although his eyes gleamed with brotherly delight at the prospect of future teasing. "In the new surveillance tapes, you and Jim will be seen leaving the penthouse where you'll head down to your suite, gather your belongings and then check out of the hotel, well before any of the gunshots were fired. We already have a Mr. and Mrs. James Hart booked on the red-eye to Los Angeles, leaving tonight in roughly an hour and a half. Your alter-egos will be gone before the police ever learn that you visited the penthouse tonight. They won't need to get in touch with you, either. You've got an air-tight alibi." He rubbed his fingers against shirt, then blew on his nails and arched an arrogant eyebrow at her.

Well used to her supervisor's cocky attitude, especially when he orchestrated a successful cover story, Trixie rolled her eyes and swallowed a low groan. "That's only part of the story. What about Ritch and Mr. Young? What do you have up your sleeve for them?"

"Simple." Max pushed open the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door closed behind them, blocking off the sight of the rest of the agents working feverishly to purify the room before changing it into what they wanted it to be. Incredibly, they were already halfway finished. "After you left the penthouse to pack up for your flight home, there was an ugly power struggle between Mr. Young and Ritch over ownership of the disc. Ritch will have demanded it; Young refused. A fight ensued between them. Obviously, Ritch shot Young, who then retaliated by pulling out a concealed weapon. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Trixie considered the scenario, looking for any loopholes or weaknesses, before nodding her agreement. It would work, especially with the manufactured surveillance tapes to back it up. Even if the butler or Ginny brought up their presence in the penthouse, it wouldn't matter. They would truly be in the clear. Max had seen to it. Her fingers tapped along her thigh before she mused aloud, "It won't be too hard to create. Short and simple. I like it."

Jim openly stared at her, flabbergasted. He didn't have a clue how they could pull something like this off. Confusion was evident in his tone as he stated, "But, Trix, that's not what happened."

Max clapped a hand on his shoulder. Because they weren't being taped, he felt free to use Jim's real name. "Don't worry, Frayne. We've got the technology to make it happen. In fact, the finishing touches are probably being put on the tape right now." At that moment a new text popped up, informing him that the surveillance tapes were finished. His answering grin said it all. "No one but us will ever know the actual truth."

Jim stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. To his way of mind, there was still someone they hadn't taken into consideration. "Young will know what happened," he promptly countered, pointing out a glaringly obvious hole to their plan. "He's still alive. He'll probably pull through, now that his injury is being taken care of. You can't change his memory."

"You're wrong there, Frayne," Max answered without a moment's hesitation, a touch of arrogance to his tone, confident in the workings of the CDA. "In fact, that's what the agents who are with him are working on right now. Once they have his wound under control, they'll start concentrating on his subconscious. We have…sophisticated ways of making him believe what we want him to believe. He won't be able to recall the truth. Ever. He'll truly believe that he completed the deal with you and then Ritch turned on him. He won't have a reason to disbelieve it, either. There'll be the surveillance tape to back him up."

Feeling like he'd somehow stepped onto a soap opera set, where reality could easily be turned on the quick flip of a dime, Jim whirled around to face Trixie, unsure exactly what he was feeling, and inquired weakly, "Brainwashing?"

"Something like that." Not wanting to go into the details of how they'd get what they want, Trixie settled for a small shrug, tabling the discussion for now, and addressed Max. She needed to be certain that all bases were covered. "So, you've got all the details taken care of, right?"

"Everything's been seen to," he answered in the affirmative, proud of what he'd accomplished. "It's done. Through the texts I just got from our counterparts, everything should be ready in…" He paused to consult his watch. "About thirteen minutes."

"Good. That's it, then." Trixie blew out a relieved breath, glad that they were able to clean up the mission from hell so quickly and efficiently and without any serious harm. She glanced back at Max, a slight smile playing across her lips. "Thanks for setting up the snipers, by the way. They came in handy."

"No thanks to you." Max let out a low chuckle when she looked affronted. Before she could argue with him, he held up his hands, palms out, and shared, "I'm not being a smart ass. You two did an excellent job of getting in the way. Every single time one of them had a clear shot at either of our targets, you managed to get in the way and block it." He shook his head, bemused at the way the mission had finally turned out. A dead turncoat, a wounded mark. No sale of the disc. A failed mission, all in all. At least the disc was still in their possession. As he looked at his agent and his stand-in, he had to correct his thoughts. And they were safe. They were going home. For that, he was grateful. He couldn't ask for much more.

Trixie waved an airy hand through the air. "What can I say? We'll do better next time?"

"Hey. There won't be a next time. At least, not for me." Max shook his head, amazed that he was reaching the end of his career as a CDA agent. It sucked that his last mission wasn't going to go down as a success. He'd much rather preferred that it did.

Trixie's eyes flared open. "Your last mission," she breathed out. She'd completely forgotten about that last little tidbit. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced back at the closed door, imagining the scene as they continued to turn Max's vision into a reality. "I'm sorry."

"Not a big deal." Max rolled a casual shoulder. Totally deadpanned, he stated evenly, "I mean, it's not like we have to face our Chief or anything."

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Inwardly, she swore. A lot. "Damn it," she grumbled finally, her face squinched up into an unpleasant scowl.

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to it, too," Max muttered back, his expression momentarily mirroring hers. The debriefing back at their San Diego office wasn't going to be pretty. Already thinking of the best way to handle it, Max decided that they'd need to focus on the positives. Trixie, he knew, would go along with it. They'd discuss their strategy on the flight back to San Diego. "The Chief isn't going to be happy with us."

"Don't remind me." Trixie sucked in a deep breath, putting the worry off for another time. They still had to get out of Vegas first.

Max rested against the closed door, idly playing with the doorknob, grateful to introduce a subject that didn't include their Chief. "Before we get to face the head honcho, we've got to get out of here, and fast. So…this is how the rest of the evening shakes down. You two. You need to get to the roof, pronto. A helicopter's going to be there in roughly five minutes, to pick you up and get you to your next destination."

"Okay." Trixie agreed, already half-expecting their quick exit from the scene. For the moment, she ignored Jim, who couldn't look more puzzled, and concentrated on Max and what he was saying. She couldn't miss out on any of the particulars.

"I'm staying behind. I need to be certain this mess has been properly cleaned up and no stones have been left unturned." He'd make damn certain of it, too. There wasn't going to be anything left that would clue the authorities in on what had really transpired in the penthouse.

Jim finally inserted himself into the conversation. "What about Dan?"

"He'll be there, too." Max took a second to grin at Jim. "Since it's imperative that you two leave immediately, you get to go by helicopter. Mangan'll be traveling by a different means of transportation. Don't worry, though. You'll see him soon enough."

Relieved that they'd all be together soon enough, Trixie closed her eyes and drew in a deep, relaxing breath. It was almost over. Jim was safe. Dan was safe. And they were on their way out. "You should know that the disc is in the laptop," she informed Max.

"We'll be sure to take it with us." And substitute another disc to help substantiate the story that Mr. Young had completed a sale with one James and Beatrix Hart. He'd already had the techs prepare one, while Trixie and Jim had been out on the terrace. He gave Trixie a little push. "Now, you need to go."

"I know." Although he'd alluded to the meeting, Trixie asked directly, wanting to know if he'd be there, "And we'll be seeing you at the rendezvous, right?"

With one hand on the doorknob, Max tilted his head up. "I'm the one who'll be bringing Mangan to you. All you've got to do is get there." He opened the door, had a foot through it.

"Will do." Trixie opened her mouth, closed it, and then decided to say it anyway. She put her hand on Max's elbow, prevented him from leaving. "I am sorry. This is a hell of a way to end your career with the agency," she murmured lowly, earning a sharp-eyed glance from Max.

"Hell of a way to blow your record, too," he countered smoothly. He watched Trixie mouth gape open, gave her a small chuck under her chin, and murmured sympathetically, "Can't win 'em all, Belden."

"Yeah. I guess you can't." Staring straight ahead, she let out a long, drawn-out sigh while the truth of Max's words sank in. What did losing her first mission mean? Nothing, she realized with a flash of blinding insight. It didn't mean a single, damn thing, not when everyone she loved and cared for was walking away from it, mainly intact and relatively unharmed, she thought as her eyes hastily skimmed the fresh bruises on Jim's handsome face. No, losing, even losing for the first time, didn't mean a thing, not when it could have been worse…a whole hell of a lot worse. She nodded once, a small smile touching her lips. Yeah, she could deal with it.

"Get going." Max shooed her away with his free hand, although he was curious about the sudden sparkle that blazed from her eyes. He'd expected her to be disappointed or furious when she realized her record had been marred. He hadn't expected her to appear triumphant. "Time's ticking, Belden, Frayne. Go on. Get out of here."

Trixie grabbed onto Jim's elbow, tugged him towards the door that led to the kitchen. "We're gone," she called out over her shoulder, beginning the trek through the pristine kitchen with Jim following right besides her. It was dazzling in its brightness and its whiteness, a true testament to the skill of the butler who ran the penthouse. She didn't stop to admire it and picked up the pace. They went through another door, the servant's entrance, one that led them straight to the hallway. Because the CDA had firm control over the surveillance cameras she led them into the foyer and out through the front door of the penthouse. A sharp glance left, a sharper glance right, and she took off for the left. A pair of large silver double-doors at the end of the hall greeted them.

Jim waited until they were in the stairwell to start voicing his questions. "I'm unclear on a few things here, Trix. Why do we have to leave? Shouldn't we stay to help out?" He matched his strides to keep up with her much quicker ones and found it more taxing than he'd expected it to. His girl could move fast when she needed to. Her shorter legs were eating up the steps.

"Our presence inside isn't necessary," Trixie answered matter-of-factly, barely winded by the fast pace. "The clean-up crew has a lot of work ahead of them. We've left them a few problems that they need to solve, and quickly. Getting out of their way so that they can do it is the best way we can help them right now."

"Max mentioned them, too." Jim followed her lead, took the steps two at a time. "But a _clean-up crew_? What exactly is that, anyway?"

She paused, a hand on the dull silver railing, and gifted him with an incredulous look. "Jim Frayne. After all you've learned, after all you've participated in, after all you've seen and heard and done, now you're going to get stuck on the _clean-up crew_?"

"Ahh…no." He shook his red head, although his mind still had trouble wrapping itself around the enormity of what her agency could do, and apparently do very well. "I guess not. I gather, from their name, that they must…ah…take care of…well…things."

"That's putting it mildly," Trixie replied, giving her curls a little shake. As usual, Max was right. They'd left behind a huge mess this time. But she had faith in her crew. They'd take care of everything. It was what they did. And they excelled at it. No one would ever know that the CDA had come and gone. "Basically, you just need to know that there won't be any trace left of us in that penthouse. No hair, no fingerprints, nothing. Nada. Zilch. As Max told us, they'll fiddle with the security cameras, show us leaving shortly after handing over the disc, then make a show of how it was Ritch and Ritch alone who took on Mr. Young. Knowing them the way that I do, they'll digitalize Mr. Young firing back at Ritch at the same time that he fired on him so that there won't be a question that it was self-defense."

"But…that's not how it happened." Jim came to a sudden stop halfway up the stairs, sounding very mystified by the whole idea and unable to get past it. Altering reality, in any way, shape or form, was clearly not his forte.

Taking pity on him, Trixie halted two steps ahead of him so she was slightly taller. Smiling down into his perplexed eyes, she gently patted his cheek and spoke lowly, wanting to comfort and soothe, "I know that. You know that. But that's how the authorities are going to see it. They're going to see it in a complete different way. I promise."

"I guess…" He stopped, blew out a breath, and ran a hand through his hair, making the short red locks stick out in different directions, a perfect match for the differing range of emotions he was experiencing, and tried again. "All right. I guess I'm just surprised that you can mess with reality like that. I mean, surveillance tapes, brainwashing, clean-up crews, speedy exits. With helicopters," he couldn't resist tacking on. When he heard how astonished he sounded, he stopped talking and aimed a sheepish grin at her. "Us corporate lawyers don't tend to think in terms like this."

"We're the CDA. We can pretty much do anything we want to." She leaned forward, pressed a quick, comforting kiss to the center of his forehead. About to urge them to move forward, she stopped in mid-stride when long fingers grasped her elbow, preventing her from moving.

"Anything?" Jim repeated.

"Anything," she asserted firmly. Thinking back on some of the events her agency had created and spun out until the world saw it firmly as the truth, she let out a small chuckle, wondering how he'd react if she shared the results of a few of their other missions with him. Right now wasn't the time to contemplate it. With the clock running down, she started up the stairs, her hand safely held within Jim's, and pulled him along after her. "Roof, Jim. We've got to get moving."

So far everything he'd heard, both from her and Max, hovered well beyond the realm of his understanding. But, come to think of it, so did the entirety of his vacation. Maybe he didn't have to actually comprehend it. Maybe all he had to do was believe in it, to believe in her. After all, the facts were on their side. He was currently fleeing the hotel, with his _wife _next to him. And they were leaving via helicopter. From the rooftop. Little lights of humor finally flickered within the depth of his eyes, making him see more into the situation than she'd ever expected him to.

She glanced at him questioningly, curious why he suddenly seemed so amused. Since they had other, more important things to concentrate on, she focused on their upcoming exit. "We should make it to the rooftop right about the time the helicopter does. All we need to do is get in it and leave. Have you ever ridden in a helicopter before?"

"Hmm….mmm," Jim murmured, following her again as she started up the last flights of steps. He looked ahead, saw the large door that stood between them and the outside. "So, everything's really settled?"

Trixie squeezed his hand, held on tight. "Oh, yeah. They'll take care of everything, even our belongings. Everything will be shipped back to our houses, probably before we even get there. Your laptop will be restored to its regular condition, as will your cell phone and all your personal effects." Although she fully understood the coming of the end, she bravely tried her hand at some levity and shook a finger at him. "You'll have to turn in your fake ID before you go home, though. No more James Hart for you."

And just like that, his recent humor dimmed until it faded completely away. Home. God, he didn't want to go home, to his quiet, lonely apartment, to his job at his father's company. He wanted to stay. With her. It felt like a fist grabbed ahold of his heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter as each second dragged painfully on. He stumbled over the next step, nearly took her down with him but caught the railing at the last moment. It took a minute before he was able to mumble out quietly, putting a whole lot of feeling into such a short little phrase, "I see."

She was under the same type of spell, one conjured up both in regret and disappointment. Like him, she was reminded that they didn't have much time left together. The trip to the roof, the short helicopter flight to their rendezvous point, and then…and then…Oh, God. The pain hit her, hard, right in the vicinity of her heart. She squared her shoulders, resolutely blinking back a set of tears that sprang to her eyes. She'd face their departure, stoic and strong. She had to. She didn't have a choice. "Yes. Well. Um, we need to go." But she didn't move. She was caught in a pair of emerald eyes, eyes she knew as well as her own, maybe even better. And this time, she saw something in them, something she knew had to be reflected in her own.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. As much as he'd liked to tackle the white elephant romping around them, he couldn't. Not yet. They needed to get away first. This time it was Jim who urged Trixie forward. "We don't have much longer, right? What did Max say? Five minutes?"

Trixie recognized the change in subject. She didn't fight it, not when she'd been the one to bring up the ending of her mission, his vacation, their time together, whichever way one wanted to view it. She wanted to curse. She wanted to throw something, maybe break something, but all she could was follow along as they made it to the last door that opened onto the roof, their footsteps echoing together in perfect harmony, just like their thoughts. "I'd say we've got about a minute to spare," she answered, despising the way reality was rudely intruding on them. Hang reality, she thought with disgust, wishing, just wishing, that they could have a little more time together.

When they reached the top of the stairwell, Jim pushed open the last door. Cool air immediately greeted them, a sign that it was much windier up on the rooftop. It caught her curls, lifted them and made them dance in a way he couldn't help but appreciate. Cupping her elbow, they stepped over the threshold together, out onto the rooftop, their thoughts on the same subject. The sand was dripping down through the hourglass at an alarming rate. There was nothing they could do to stop it.

He halted in the center of the rooftop, tossed a glance out over the Vegas night. The city looked completely different from their new vantage point. All lights, all bright, a large, glittering, glimmering neon rainbow. It sparkled and twinkled as bright and as far as the eyes could see. He didn't see a speck of it and watched with trepidation as a dark shape began to form well out on the horizon. The helicopter. Had to be. It would be on them sooner than he wanted it to. "Max is right. It's on time," he mumbled unnecessarily, pointing off in the direction of the helicopter.

"As annoying as it is, Max is always right," she replied, somewhat stupidly, and totally unaware of the vulnerability painted across her face. She pressed her hands against her thighs, keeping the slashes of her skirt from billowing out, and looked unseeingly out into the night.

"To hell with it." Fed up with the sudden seriousness of the moment, overlooking the imminent arrival of their newest mode of transportation, Jim caught her shoulders and roughly pulled her forward until they were chest to chest. An edge of one lip curled up at her small squeak of surprise. But that was where his amusement ended. She lifted her face to his, all sweet and young and desperately helpless; helpless to deflect, helpless to deny, helpless to do anything but respond in the way he was demanding before he even demanded it. Breathing hard, he lowered his head down to hers, and, throwing aside all the frustration he felt, claimed her mouth with a force that wouldn't allow any response from her but the same.

The shock, intermingled with pleasure, and heightened by passion, shot straight through her. She went tight, then she went lax, crumbling into him in less than a second. She held on to him, her arms twining around his neck, as his mouth demanded an equivocal response. Desperate, she gave back as much as she could, pouring as much of herself as she could into the embrace. Anything, anything, to make the most of their preciously few dwindling seconds together.

The whip of the wind, the whir of the engine, and, with a small moan of frustration, Trixie reluctantly broke contact and dropped back. Tucking an errant curl behind an ear, she rolled her eyes when it immediately popped back out. Refusing to be embarrassed, she declared, her voice unusually hoarse and husky, "It's time to go."

He didn't move. Couldn't, not when his world had been rocked by the simplest of actions. Reaching out, he tenderly cupped her cheek, and breathed in sharply when she turned into his touch. "I know."

She dredged up a smile. Before she could give in to the impulse to kiss him again, she gestured towards the helicopter hovering above them. She couldn't see the pilot but she imagined he'd must have had a front row seat for their most recent display of affection. She caught his arm, preventing him from walking over to the rope ladder that dangled precariously from the helicopter, "Jim. Wait."

As always, her touch made its way all the way through him. He immediately complied. "Trix?"

"Thanks for making Vegas so…memorable," she said, twin flags of red flaring in her cheeks. "We may not have won but it's been…."

"Amazing," he finished for her and grabbed the end of the dangling ladder.

"Without a doubt." Knowing he wouldn't go first, she gripped the sides of the ladder and, with an athleticism he couldn't help but admire, started climbing her way up to the helicopter. Another agent reached out, helped her inside. She crouched down inside and waved down at Jim, letting him know it was his turn. Chewing on the bottom of her lip, she held her breath until he was safe inside. Then she took a seat in the back and observed the pilot competently set the ride in motion. It didn't surprise her when Jim sat in the seat next to her. Although the vehicle held two other fellow agents, she didn't offer a single protest when Jim dropped an arm around her shoulder. Allowing herself the luxury, she laid her head against his chest and breathed in deeply. No words were spoken; none were needed. Both knew the end of the road was looming ahead of them.


	38. Chapter 38

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The helicopter gently touched down on an airstrip that seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the dark and foreboding desert. Trixie smiled her thanks at the two agents who'd flown them there and, since it appeared that they were going to have a bit of a wait until Max and Dan showed up, opened the door. Carefully, she climbed out of the helicopter, Jim a quick step behind her. She scanned the area, noting that while the lone building on the site appeared to be on the old and decrepit side, the runway was extremely well-lit and in terrific shape. There wasn't a pothole to be found. In fact, the asphalt looked as if it had recently been tended to. She couldn't say the same for the dirt road leading up to the building, or the building itself. Not that she was surprised. Looks, as she had come to learn through her years of service with the CDA, were often deceiving.

"Where are we?" Jim came up behind her, puzzled about their whereabouts. An old, rundown, and certainly not a very thriving, airfield hadn't been his first thought about where they would land.

"We're still in Nevada," Trixie answered, recalling Max's departure plans. "If my calculations are correct, we'd be about a forty-five minute car ride away from Vegas."

"So we have some time to kill before Max and Dan join us," Jim deduced, pathetically grateful that he had a few more minutes remaining with her before it was all officially over. The thought of leaving made him frown. He turned away, faced the velvety dark of the desert, and thrust his hands into his pockets, lost in thought and struggling with regret.

Trixie didn't answer. She didn't need to. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Their impending separation was hanging over both their heads, like a heavy anvil just begging to fall. Needing something to occupy her mind, she focused on the building. Broken windows, boarded-up doors, and a trio of old, outdated outside lights placed along the side of the building, offering three pale, ugly circles of yellow light that didn't do much to counteract the darkness of the Nevada night. She guessed that the airstrip hadn't been used in a long while. At least, not in an official capacity. Its remote location made it the perfect destination for clandestine usage by her agency. She swung her head around. Her frown deepened when she noted the small commuter plane sitting off to the edge of the tarmac. Two people leaned against it, chatting away. More agents. She returned their casual wave of greeting, acknowledging their presence.

Jim tapped her on the shoulder, curious about the plane. "What's that for?"

Trixie paused before answering. She needed the time. When she felt she could force the words past the sudden lump residing in her throat, she mumbled faintly, averting her gaze, "It's your ride home."

Jim's hand tensed reflexively on her shoulder. Hearing her put into words what he didn't want to hear hurt more than he'd anticipated. With a rawness to his tone he couldn't quite hide, he inquired more forcefully than was needed, "What do you mean?"

She didn't answer. She waved to their helicopter pilot as he sauntered past them, on his way over to hang out with the other agents. Wanting some semblance of privacy away from the prying eyes of her fellow agents, she tugged his hand and started walking along the length of the building. It wouldn't put much distance between them and the other nameless agents but at least no one would be able to hear their last moments together. "I know what Max is planning," she began the second they reached the last circle of light at the end of the building.

"What does that have to do with me going home?" Jim studied her face intently.

"He'll tell you once he gets here but I know that plane is for you and Dan." Trixie jerked a thumb towards the sturdy aircraft. "I bet you'll be flown to another private airstrip, just like this one. Max won't want you and Dan to fly into an airport, big or small. He won't want there to be a record of this flight. And he won't want anyone to learn about an unrecorded flight plan. The FAA kinda frowns on that, you know." Her lips tilted up in a smile, a valiant attempt at levity.

"I can imagine." Jim blew out a long, slow breath. Since her agency seemed to be all-powerful, he figured they didn't need to file proper flight plans with anyone, not even the FAA. After all, they basically did whatever they wanted to. After his time in Vegas, he could attest to it. He imagined there were plenty of unrecorded flights taken by the CDA over the years. "So, you guys have carte blanche over the skies, too."

"You'd better believe it." Allowing a minute of silence to descend, she courageously continued on with his dismissal plans, "Once you land at the undisclosed airstrip, there'll be a vehicle waiting to drive you to a commercial airport, where you'll be able to board your flight home in the normal style. By this time tomorrow night, you'll already be back in New York City. Sounds great, doesn't it?" She forced a small laugh. It rang hollow to her own ears.

Jim half-turned, looked directly down into the sapphire blue eyes that didn't carry an ounce of their normal sparkle to them. Evenly, without a catch to his voice, he stated another truth, "And you'll be back in San Diego."

"Facing down the Chief." Trixie let out a small sigh and rested back against the building, her gaze on the broken concrete that had once served as a sidewalk at their feet. At least thinking about her upcoming debriefing with her boss helped keep her mind off his imminent departure. Her shoulders drooped before she resolutely straightened them. Trying to find a thread of humor in their current situation, she declared with another little mirthless sort of a laugh, "Let me tell you, it ain't gonna be fun."

"I gathered that already." Not knowing what to do with his hands, Jim took them out of his pockets. He lifted them as if to touch her, then dropped them, and ended up pressing one against the side of the dilapidated building, all the while wondering how they could make small talk when all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and never let her go. A quick glance over his shoulder at the other agents proved how inappropriate the thought was. Frustrated, and miserably unhappy, he rapped a fist against the crumbling wood. "I'm sorry the mission wasn't a success."

Trixie's head shot up. She stepped away from the building, into the center of the circle of yellow light, allowing him an excellent view of her face. Earnest and heartfelt, without an ounce of condemnation to it. "You don't need to be sorry," she stated imploringly, grabbing one hand with both of hers and holding on firmly. "Really, you don't. I don't care that the mission failed. I truly don't. There's no need for you to be sorry."

"Yes. There is." He couldn't deny the need any longer. He took a large step forward, stood directly in front of her, and tucked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up towards his. Speaking quietly, sounding apologetic, he explained emphatically, "I didn't need Max to rub my face in the truth. I know I made it harder for you to do your job. I knew it, from the very beginning. Without me here gumming up the works, everything would have gone much smoother. You'd probably already be back in California, readying for your next mission. I'm the one who screwed it all up."

"Maybe it would have gone smoother. Maybe it wouldn't have." She lifted a nonchalant shoulder and spoke quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "There's no sense in going down this particular road, Jim. None at all. We don't know what would have happened, if things had gone as we'd originally planned. All we can do is concentrate on the cards we were given and how it all panned out in the end. This is Vegas, after all." Reaching out, she laid a gentle hand on his arm, surprised at the tautness underneath, and insisted strongly, wanting to alleviate any guilt he may be experiencing, "Listen to me. You have nothing to apologize for, Jim. Nothing!"

He covered her hand with his but understood it was useless to contradict her, not with the way she was looking at him, all solemn and sincere. She believed what she was saying. It was as clear as the pert nose on her face. Left with no other choice, he tried a different tack to get her to accept an apology from him. "Max said that this was your first loss on a mission. At least let me be sorry for that."

A thread of pride rang out in her voice while she declared, "Sometimes Max is quite wrong, Jim. I didn't lose." Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. She moved just a little closer to him and spoke with a fierceness he couldn't miss, "I didn't lose. Max never knew that my prime objective shifted once you took over for him. When that happened, everything else became secondary. Something became more important. It took precedence over gaining Mr. Young's trust or completing that stupid deal. That something was much more vital, much more imperative."

Forgetting that they weren't alone, Jim closed the miniscule amount of distance remaining between them. And this time his hands knew what to do. One hand rested at her waist; the other threaded its way through her soft silky curls. Huskily, he inquired, although he already suspected the answer…and the answer absolutely delighted him, "What is this something else?"

"You, of course." Her smile broadened, allowing her lively dimples to dance vivaciously in each cheek. Even though the lighting could be considered pathetic at best, her eyes had never shimmered more; her face had never been so open and so very genuine. "I couldn't lose this mission, Jim. And I didn't. You came out of it, safe and sound. It's what I wanted; all that I wanted." She tilted her head back, delighted to finally admit the truth. "Max doesn't see it that way. Neither will the Chief or the rest of the agency. But I do."

Caught in her triumphant gaze, Jim was rendered momentarily speechless. Realizing that she, a dedicated and excellent agent, had willingly chosen to put him ahead of her assigned mission, and ahead of the wishes of her superiors, made more than his head swim. His heart started pounding; an erratic, powerful beat. This time when he moved to her, there wasn't any more room to separate them. His leg ended up between hers. He was no longer merely holding her waist. He was gripping her, pulling her towards him. "Trixie," he said, softly but with a grittiness underneath.

Reacting to the feral tone in his voice, Trixie's blood hummed wickedly through her veins, all in a rush of undeniable anticipation. For the first time since they'd left the helicopter, she looked, really looked, into his face. What she saw made her gasp. Shock, wonder, and something dangerously close to reverence shone out from the emerald eyes staring back at her. Hell, it made her heart hurt, just knowing he could look at her like that, and that he could see so much of her and into her. "I didn't lose," she repeated again, the words flying out of her mouth, untapped and unplanned. "I know the truth better than anyone else." She drew in a breath, brought her hand up and traced the side of his beloved face with the back of her fingers, touching the very person she'd wanted to keep safe throughout the entirety of the mission. _"I didn't lose."_

With eyes blazing with a barely suppressed need, he cupped the back of her neck. Slowly, very slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. It wasn't a passionate meeting; it couldn't be, not with an interested audience a good fifteen feet away. But, for all its softness, for all its sweetness, there was a rawness to it, one that Jim briefly let live as he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. Her answering moan nearly broke the thin leash he held over his remaining control. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss but not the embrace. Breathing heavily, he touched his forehead to hers.

Well aware of the picture they made, a gorgeous silhouette in one of the miserably few circles of light afforded in this desolate part of the desert, Trixie allowed herself a long minute to savor the feeling, the security, the loveliness of his embrace before she forced herself to pull away, with a regret that was practically painful. But she had to. Her fellow agents weren't that far away. They could most definitely see them. With the memory of his lips still tingling on hers, she smiled up at him apologetically, letting him know without words that she hated to break their connection. "It won't be too much longer before Max gets here," she said, searching for something to say.

"And Dan." Jim gave a small cough. Unable to lose contact with her, he kept his hand at her waist but dropped the one from her neck. "Do you think they had any trouble leaving the hotel?"

She gave a barely imperceptible shake of her head. "Absolutely not. Max had everything planned down to the last second. I wouldn't be surprised if they…" A noise could be heard, coming from somewhere in the distance. Rising on her tiptoes, Trixie peered over his shoulder and pointed out into the night with a small triumphant cry. "There. Right there. Do you see the headlights?"

Sure enough, he could see two headlights slicing through the darkness, coming their way at a rapid pace. He could actually make out the dark line of dust the vehicle was kicking up in its wake. _Damn _was all he could think. It was time. He grumbled under his breath, "There they are."

"Yeah. There they are." She suddenly felt an insane urge to cry. Despising the weakness, she pushed it as far away as she could, telling herself that there was simply no way she was going to allow herself the indulgence. She would not cry, she absolutely would not, especially when she was working. No, she decided on a shuddering breath, she would do it later. At her house. In San Diego. When she was alone and no one could see or watch or know. It took a moment but she did it. Steadier now, Trixie pinned a grin that didn't come anywhere close to reaching her eyes and said with forced cheer, "It'll be quick."

"What will be?" he wondered aloud although he already had a very good idea. A finger was busy drawing small circles on the soft fabric of her camisole, something he didn't even realize he was doing.

"Our departures," she murmured, stepping back against the building as the big black SUV came into view and rolled onto the old asphalt. It pulled to a stop not far from where they were standing. She was able to make Max out in the driver's seat and sent a half-hearted smile to him. Without looking at Jim, she reiterated, "It'll all happen pretty quick."

Pretty quick. An unpleasant scowl crossed his face. He didn't like the sound of that at all. He finally had to let go when she pulled away to go over to the SUV, walking carefully to avoid some of the gaping holes in the sidewalk. Choosing to hang back, to think and plan and try to come up with some way to prevent the impending departures, he watched as Dan exploded from the passenger side and sprinted to her. He even managed a tiny grin when Dan picked her up in his arms and swung her around, surprising an honest-to-goodness laugh out of Trixie.

"Nice to see you're not the jealous sort," an amused voice declared by his side.

Jim lifted an eyebrow, a wry chuckle on his lips in spite of the seriousness of the moment, and stared at his friends instead of the agent who'd spoken to him. "How'd everything go?"

Max spread out his hands, more than pleased with the final act of the mission from hell. "For the first time since this godforsaken mission started, everything finally went like clockwork. The surveillance tapes are up and running. I have it on good authority that the proper authorities have already viewed them. The penthouse was cleaned from top to bottom. A new window was installed. We meticulously replaced Young and Ritch to match the reality created in the new tape before the cavalry arrived. Young's been taken to the hospital. He's already pointing his finger at Ritch. Truly, it couldn't have gone better."

"How'd the police get involved so quickly?" Jim asked with half an ear, more interested in watching Dan and Trixie. Their meeting was too happy for him to feel any sort of jealousy at their closeness. Or maybe he'd finally laid a few of his old demons to rest.

"Oh, that. Young can thank his butler. Caine came back earlier than expected." Max shot him a side-ways glance and admitted, "As my last act before leaving the hotel, I engineered it so that he received an SOS text from Young right about the time of the 'shooting'."

"Good thinking. It's completely done, then." When Dan draped a brotherly arm around Trixie and started leading her towards them, he waved a hand in greeting.

"Almost. We have our debriefing left and then we can finally table the mission. Thank God," he muttered as an afterthought under his breath, so quietly Jim barely heard him.

Jim waited until the pair reached them. Quirking an eyebrow, he called out jokingly, "Look who finally decided to show up."

Dan stopped in his tracks and glared at Jim, clearly offended by the tone and the uncharacteristically cocky deliverance. "Excuse me?"

Jim shook his head in apparent sadness, shared a look with Max who understood where the redhead was going and jumped into participate with the same disappointed expression on his face. Satisfied he had some back-up, Jim continued after sighing loudly, "We could have used you up there in the penthouse, Mangan. Such a shame. I never thought I'd say it but you're starting to slip."

An unpleasant frown crossed his face. "I was seriously detained. Frayne," he tacked on, aiming a dark glower at his friend. He dropped his arm from Trixie, who was covering her face with her hands to prevent a sudden case of nearly hysterical giggles.

"I know. I know. By, what, one agent?" Jim knew the correct answer but it was so rare to get a chance to poke fun at the monarch of mockery, the sultan of sarcasm. He wasn't about to let the opportunity slip by. And it allowed him to push the final ending off for a few more minutes. Plus it warmed his heart to hear Trixie's choked laughter. He didn't know when he'd be able to hear it again.

"Four. It took four extremely well-trained agents. Not just your regular, run of the mill agents, either. Super agents," Dan gritted out through clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed when Trixie finally let out a full-blown laugh that she had attempted, and failed, to completely cover up.

Jim turned to look at Max and released a deep, loud sigh, spurred on by the twinkles of merriment winking in the sapphire eyes in front of him. "He must be catching a cold or something. Usually Daniel Mangan doesn't let something like four men stop him."

"Four agents," Dan grouched again, his glare promising retribution at the first possible moment. He'd make damn certain of it. "Four CDA agents."

Shaking his head solemnly, Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "There's no need to feel bad, Mangan. Better luck next time."

Dan shrugged Jim off and threw up his hands. Although he firmly believed no explanations were necessary, he tried to explain it away anyway, "They had tranquilizers, Jim. Tranquilizers! If I didn't stop putting up a fight, they were going to sedate me. I didn't want to be sedated."

"Excuses, excuses," Jim declared cheerfully, absolutely delighted to have the shoe on the other foot for once. It so rarely happened. He only hoped it would happen again. Placing Dan on the receiving end was an experience he'd love to repeat again…and not just once, but many, many times.

Dan nearly growled in frustration. He opened his mouth, with the intention of saying something not quite so flattering to Jim, when Trixie, who'd finally regained control of her laughter, interceded.

"Calm down," she ordered Dan quietly. She put a soothing hand on Dan's forearm and faced Max, in professional mode once again. "Tell me. How is the Vegas situation?"

"All clear." Max gave her a thumbs-up, proud of their work. He glanced at his watch. "I used our time on the road to brief Mangan here on his departure. Have you told Frayne what's going to happen?" At her suddenly stiff nod, he understood that she was hiding her feelings behind a very thin shell. As expected, a quick and hopefully painless rip was the only way to go. He coughed softly before giving her the dreaded time limit, "Well, then, I need to check on a few last minute details with our pilots over there. I'll be back in…ah…say…five minutes."

"Okay," Trixie agreed, once again finding the ground interesting.

"Make the most of it." Max gave her a small wink she didn't see before fading back into the shadows. There wasn't a serious need to talk with the pilots. They knew their destinations; he merely wanted to give the three Bob-Whites a chance for a semi-private farewell. One glance back told him that it wasn't going to be easy. Not on any of them.

Trixie couldn't have been more grateful for Max's gesture. Lifting her head, she looked first at Dan, a little longer at Jim, and then pinned a bright smile on her face. "Well, this is it," she remarked as cheerfully as she could muster which, she admitted, didn't sound cheerful at all.

His earlier agitation with Jim forgotten, Dan stepped up to her, took both her hands in his, and squeezed. "It is it," he repeated, somewhat inanely. Leaning down, he brushed a swift kiss on her cheek before dropping back. "It was quite a vacation, let me tell you. I've always heard stories about how crazy Vegas can be but I never expected it to be this…interesting."

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Trixie shook her head. Wanting to leave with a little bit of humor, she said, shaking a small finger at him, "At least you learned something from it all. Remember to call the next time you want to drop in on someone else's vacation, all right?"

Dan barked out a quick laugh. "Hollywood, you've got it all wrong. I did call. I did text." He jabbed a finger at Jim, who was suddenly very, very quiet. "I think you should be telling someone over there that he needs to check his cell once in a damn while. If he'd bothered to, he could have told me to mind my own business. I mean, I truly thought I was coming to help alleviate any boredom Jim might be feeling. That's why I decided to crash his vacation. I never expected to find all this."

Jim didn't join in the next round of light, and slightly forced, laughter. He couldn't; not with the minutes rapidly ticking away. He found it so hard to believe that only the night before they'd been intertwined as closely as two people could possibly get; hearts, souls and bodies. And now, they were getting ready to say goodbye, for who knew how long. It made him ache. All over.

"Well, if I'm telling the truth, I must say that I'm glad you decided to crash Jim's vacation," Trixie told Dan, earning a shocked glance for her admission. And she was glad, extremely so. If Dan hadn't arrived and, subsequentially, blown her secret, she highly doubted if she and Jim would have become so much closer, so much more than they'd ever been. She threw her arms around Dan. "Take care, Mangan. Have a safe trip home."

Dan gathered her into his arms again. He held on, squeezed, and reluctantly let her go when he caught sight of the solemn-faced agent retracing his steps and heading their way. Their time was up. Tucking back a stray curl, he murmured, "Same to you, Hollywood. When do you think we'll get to see you again?"

Her shrug looked defensive. She couldn't help it. She couldn't give him an answer. "I don't know. I'll get back home. When I can."

Entering their quiet realm one more time, Max reluctantly cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him. "I hate to break up the party but…" He left the rest hanging and gestured towards the two aircrafts. The pilots were already back inside, readying for their upcoming flights in opposing directions.

"Yeah. I know." Pressing her hands against her thighs, Trixie began nervously playing with the material of her skirt. She offered one last smile to Dan, and, taking a deep, fortifying breath, turned to do what was the hardest thing she'd ever attempted to do while on a mission. Say good-bye to Jim. Wide blue eyes skimmed over him, making a conscious memory, while she quickly recalled how hard it had been to say good-bye in Sleepyside, a few days after Honey's wedding. That farewell, painful as it had been, had absolutely nothing on this one. Their separate lives truly did suck. "Jim," she began simply, a small hitch to her voice that didn't go unnoticed by anyone present.

He smoothed back the one curl that always refused to stay put. One edge of his lip edged up when he watched it bounce back into place, just as vigorously as normal. Just like his girl. "Trixie," he murmured, simply and softly.

Working under a time limit, Max tapped his watch, feeling like the meanest man in the world. But they had to go. There was no denying it. And it would be better if the leaving wasn't prolonged. For her, he tempered his voice. "Time to go. Let's move, people."

Trixie blinked her eyes quickly, reminding herself that she would not cry. She couldn't; it simply wasn't done. "Yeah. I know," she replied, her voice thick with unshed emotion. However, she didn't move. Couldn't. Her feet were currently glued to the ground. She was too focused on the emerald eyes staring back at her.

Wanting to break the tangible tension and give them a few more precious seconds, Dan questioned, "What's going to happen again, Max?"

As if looking for some much-needed patience, Max glanced up at the heavens, aware of what Dan was doing. "We…" and he pointed at himself and Trixie…"are on our way to San Diego. By helicopter." So there wasn't any further confusion, he gestured towards Dan and Jim. "You two. You will be flying by a commuter plane to your next destination. You'll be shuffled from the plane to a car and then to an undisclosed, well-known airport. After that, you will board your flight and fly back to New York. Remember? We went over it on the way here."

"Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot." Observing the two closely, he couldn't help but notice that neither Jim nor Trixie had stopped staring at each other. He nearly stifled a groan. Having a love-sick Jim by his side was going to make for one hell of a long trip home. "I think me and Jim can handle it. What do you think, Frayne?"

Jim almost jumped when Dan clapped a hand on his shoulder. He glared at his assigned travel partner and grumbled out, "It sounds easy enough."

As the silence stretched on again, Max shared a sympathetic look with Dan, aware that both of them were going to have pathetic partners for the upcoming trips home. Stepping up to Trixie, he faced the other men. "Thanks for all your help with the mission, Jim. While we may not have won the day, it definitely ranks as one of my most favorite ones to have watched. You and Belden made an….oh, what is the word I'm looking for?"

"Amusing," Dan supplied helpfully.

"Ah. Yes. Amusing couple," Max finished with a flourish. He reached out, shook Jim's hand. "I trust both of you will keep everything you learned a secret, correct?"

Since Jim seemed incapable of speech, Dan answered for him. "Yeah. We won't say a word. Scout's honor." He pitched his voice lower. "We understand world peace would be at stake if we told anyone. Mum's the word. Promise."

"Oh, Dan!" Trixie gave him a playful punch, the lone move telling him more than words could how grateful she was to have him there to help lessen the break.

Anxious to leave, Max held up his wrist this time to better show them the time. "The night's not getting any younger, kids," he declared with a sarcasm they could practically feel. "We really can't stand around here much longer. The pilots are ready. The aircrafts are ready. It's past time for us to board."

She heard the finality and bravely straightened her shoulders. "Goodbye, Dan. I'm glad you came." Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a small sisterly kiss to his cheek. And then she turned to Jim. The time had come, whether she wanted it to or not. She never knew that saying goodbye this time would be so agonizing. It cut, deeper than any knife, sharper than any sword. Inhaling sharply, she made herself look him in the face. Ever so quietly, sounding more like the teenager she had once been, she mumbled, "Goodbye, Jim. Thank you. So much."

"No. Thank you," was his answer. Forgetting the two men that made up their quartet, he pulled her close, reveled in the warm feeling of having her cradled in his arms again. He swiftly brushed a gentle kiss on her forehead before reluctantly letting her go.

For once, Trixie didn't blush. She dropped back on her heels, her hands fisting at her sides. She squeezed hard enough to make small crescent moons appear on the skin of her palms and declared through the knot threatening to choke her, "I guess we should go, then."

Max couldn't help but notice she didn't move. At all. It was like her feet were made of lead. Fed up, Max cupped her elbow and gave a small tug, finally breaking the heavy contact between the two. "Enjoy New York," he said with a two-fingered salute towards the two and pulled her away.

"Yeah. Enjoy New York." Jim heard himself say the words. Even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he realized how right they were, what they meant, what he really wanted to do. Just like that, his heart suddenly felt pounds lighter. And a mile-wide grin spread across to his face, crooked and lopsided, but as big as he could make it. It was so easy, so clear, and made him wonder why the hell he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Much to Max's chagrin, Trixie halted in mid-stride and wouldn't budge when he tugged her again. She whirled around, incredulous and hardly daring to hope she'd heard right. With eyes as big as saucers, she asked, her voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak, "What?"

He tossed the grin her way, unknowingly making a swarm of flittering butterflies take up residence within her stomach. "I was just telling Dan to have a good time. In New York," he added, the green of his eyes brightening with unlimited joy and peace. Oh, yes. He'd made the right choice. The stunned wonder on her face told him so.

She didn't hear Max swearing under his breath, obviously annoyed with the fact that they were, once again, not leaving. Tugging her arm away from him, she skipped forward, until she stood right at the edge of the light. "You want Dan to enjoy New York," she repeated, although she knew what he meant. In her heart, she knew. And she couldn't be happier.

"I don't want the bon voyage. Not yet. Not tonight." When he was right, he could move with a speediness that made her blink. He was at her side before the words were out of his mouth. He picked up a curl, twirled it around his finger, before sharing, "I'm thinking maybe it's not time for my vacation to end."

Her eyes were sparkling, making a mockery of the millions of stars shining above them. "Oh?" was all she was capable of.

Uncaring of the fact that Dan was currently pumping a hand in the air, obviously cheering him on, Jim took her hand. She immediately laced her fingers through his, making him grin even more. "You see, I've never had the opportunity to visit California before."

"Oh, you don't know what you're missing," Trixie hastened to assure him, her fingers tightening their hold on him and her smile big, bright and absolutely, breathtakingly beaming. "Is there a specific…place you'd care to visit?"

He winked back at her. The euphoria he was feeling couldn't be bottled, would never be manufactured. It had to be experienced. It was just too damn good. "The southern end has a lot of great sights, doesn't it?" Bending down, he murmured as he nuzzled near her ear, "Especially if you're there."

Jubilant, she went on her tiptoes. "I'll be there," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and wondering if this was all a dream. When she opened them, she was still in his arms. They were still in the Nevada desert. And he'd just decided to fly away with her. She picked up her head, glanced at Dan, and called out cheerfully, clearly dismissing him, "We'll see you later, Dan!"

It was impossible to miss how much happier she sounded. Or how much happier Jim looked. "Yeah, yeah. I know when I'm not wanted," he grouched although he was secretly pleased for the two of them. He offered them a lightning flash grin before sauntering his way towards the commuter plane. Alone. When he reached the set of short steps, he paused to look back, to check their progress. They'd just made it to the helicopter. He shook his head, wishing he had someone he could share this moment with, and whispered quietly into the night, "Way to go, Frayne. Who knew you had it in you?"


	39. Chapter 39

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Thirty-Nine

San Diego. It wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination. He was here, in the town she'd adopted as her own seven years earlier. Not only was he here, he was actually at her agency, standing inside her office. The only way it could get any better was if she was still with him. But she wasn't. Nope; she'd been spirited away by Max shortly after she'd deposited him in her office, the only stop she'd made while on her way to the debriefing she was dreading. A quick glance at his cell showed him that she had been gone for well over four hours now. Stopping his pacing, he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Well," he grumbled, frustrated and wishing she would reappear, "I can't complain. Trix told me before she left not to expect her back any time soon."

Sighing, he sent another searching look over her tiny office. And it was tiny. It took exactly eight of his long-legged strides to make it from one end of the room to the other. It was large enough to hold a desk, a filing cabinet, and a beat-up looking old sofa that was surprisingly comfortable. He could attest to it. Somehow he'd managed to take a refreshing nap on it, right after she'd left. The desk was ultra-tidy, which shocked the hell out of him. Trixie had never been one to worry about keeping things neat, orderly or organized. Needing something to occupy his mind, he walked over to it, noted that nothing of personal import resided on the top of it. Just a desktop computer, turned off, a telephone, and a wire mesh container that held an assortment of pens. He picked one up, amused himself by clicking it off and on before dropping it back down. Because it looked out of place on the gleaming wood, he put it back in its container, and, with only a small furtive glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, carefully pulled open a drawer. Nothing interesting was inside, just a single pad filled with blank lined paper, so he checked another one. This time he only found dust. He couldn't help it and chuckled. Closing the drawer, he quickly deduced, "She must not use her desk much."

Wondering if the contents of her filing cabinet were similar to the lack of ones in her desk, he strode over to it and started poking through the first drawer. Hanging green files. With nothing but empty file folders in them. Each drawer revealed the same, making him jump to the logical conclusion that the normal office furniture was mainly for display purposes only, was not something she needed or utilized in her unusual line of work. She'd once told him there was never a paper trail on any of her missions. Obviously, she was quite right. Curiosity satisfied, he closed the bottom drawer and straightened his body, wondering what else he could do to keep himself occupied.

The lone window in the far wall offered him an answer. Hooking a thumb into the loops of his pants, he crossed over to it, lifted it up and was immediately hit with the lovely smell of the ocean, proof that he was not that far away from it. He imagined he could hear the waves crashing against the beach. With a small smile tilting his lips, he looked out just as the night started to lose the battle for supremacy of the skies. The pearly pink of dawn was beginning to chase away the smoky velvet of the night. He leaned on the ledge, taking in the beauty of the sight, and watched Nature's spectacular version of her changing of the guard, thinking all the while that it wasn't just a postcard-worthy scene. It should be framed and hanging in a famous art gallery somewhere.

He didn't know how long he stared out, mesmerized by the sight. However, when the door handle jingled, he dropped his study of the normal everyday occurrence, and, totally unaware of the expectant expression on his face, pivoted around. He turned his attention to the doorway, eager and with his breath held. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he waited for what seemed like the longest second of his life.

As happy to see him as he was to see her, Trixie practically threw back the door. It slapped off the wall, ricocheted right back at her. A hand snapped out, stopped it from coming back to hitting her in the face. Sapphire eyes found him and lit up with unconcealed delight, making a mockery of the soft violet smudges underneath them. Never, in all of her years as an agent, had she had anyone wait for her before. Never. To know that it was Jim doing the waiting made her heart want to soar. She allowed herself one long moment to enjoy it.

"Trixie." The name tripped off his lips, before he was aware that he was even going to speak. He drank her in, noticing everything about her. The rumpled curls. The sparkling eyes. The lush lips he knew from experience were exceptionally kissable. And, not quite so nicely, but the light bruise on her cheekbone, courtesy of her encounter with Mr. Young, only a few hours earlier in that damn penthouse in Las Vegas. He zeroed in on it, couldn't look anywhere else but at it, and totally forgetting about the cuts and bruises on his own face. Its presence made his emerald eyes glow with an inner frustration because he hadn't been able to prevent it from happening.

Having tamed the door, she closed it with a soft click, never once taking her eyes off of Jim. Her cheeks colored prettily underneath his intense gaze. She leaned back against it, admitting to herself that she was more grateful to be with him than to have the debriefing completed. Because she was a little hesitant over what to say, because she wasn't completely certain about the correct course of her next action, she concentrated on the most tangible of subjects: her work. Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled it with deliberate slowness and shared, "It's finally over."

He saw the exhaustion. He couldn't miss it. The fatigue was there, shadowing her breathtaking eyes. His feet moved automatically, even before he was conscious of giving himself the mental order to move. With the lack of square footage in her office, it didn't take long at all to reach her. Wanting to give comfort, needing to soothe, he took her smaller hands within his larger ones, and gave each a reassuring squeeze. When he spoke, he spoke softly. "How did it go?"

Trixie dropped her gaze, ended up staring at their intertwined hands. How often had they held hands like this over the years? She couldn't hazard a guess. But none of them had ever felt as comforting, sweet, or needed as much as she needed it right now. In the span of six short days, everything had changed between them. Every single thing. There was nothing to hide behind; not a mission, not a fellow agent, not a friend. It was just the two of them, only the two of them. And that was the reason, the only reason, why she was struggling to find the right words to speak to him right now.

"Trix?" Jim cocked his head to the side when she didn't answer right away, a question to his voice.

She shook her head, the motion breathing some life back into her curls, and blamed her own current lack of mental capabilities on a night spent without a lick of sleep. "It wasn't…horrible. It could have been much worse than it was." And, gleeps, it could have. In fact, it should have. She was stunned that Chief Ogilvie had been much more understanding than she, or Max, had expected him to be. His quiet acceptance of their failure hadn't only surprised her. It had also surprised Max, too. During their thorough step-by-step recounting of their mission, Chief Ogilvie had been more meticulous than normal in his probing questions, probably because they hadn't been successful, but he hadn't accused either of them of negligence, hadn't yelled or blamed them, and, much to her overwhelming surprise, hadn't immediately assigned her to the most boring and mundane assignment he could think of, which was what she'd been expecting him to do. No, he hadn't done anything like that. Instead, at the end of their very long recitation, he'd shaken Max's hand and thanked him for his years of service with the CDA. He'd offered a hand shake to Trixie, too, and told her that he'd appreciated her willingness to tackle such a difficult and tricky situation. Yet another surprise. He hadn't even questioned Jim's unexpected inclusion on the ride home. It had all been much easier and painless than she'd anticipated it to be. Because she was slowly entering a new wave of exhaustion, she melted down onto the worn sofa, unable to process much more. Her lashes flittered closed, creating two dark fans against her cheeks. Her tone sounded as tired as she looked. "It wasn't exactly a normal debriefing."

Jim considered sitting on the desk. For a full second. Then he decided that would be the coward's way. Besides, the empty cushion next to her looked much more inviting. Without much hesitation, he sat down, claiming his spot next to her. To take away any surprise she may be experiencing at his chosen seat, he threw out a quip, one that he hoped would make her smile, "Well, it wasn't exactly a normal mission, was it?"

She cracked a single eye open, tried not to notice how incredibly close he was to her. Or how their shoulders rubbed. And how her thigh rested against his. Then there was the fact that he was currently dropping an arm over the back of the sofa, so that his fingers rested right by her loose curls. She didn't turn her head but she knew, she just knew, that he was now playing lightly with the ends of her hair. God, he was devastating to her senses. And the only thing he'd done was sit by her. She had to clear her throat before admitting quietly, "I guess it wasn't."

Absently, he rubbed the strands between his fingers, all the while wondering if she realized they were practically embracing. Did she know that she'd leaned back into him, that her side was now fully against his chest? Or that her hand was resting idly on his knee? He didn't know, couldn't guess, but he was grateful. Extremely so. With a voice much huskier than normal, he inquired, keeping the conversation on an easy level even though their bodies were saying so much more, "Can you tell me about it?"

She tilted her head back, stared up at him through half-closed lids. "Only a little. The Chief didn't react the way either Max or I thought he would." Unconsciously, she burrowed even closer to him, seeking his strength and support. "He actually accepted the failure very well."

"Is that typical?" Jim stopped playing with her hair. His hand slipped down to her shoulder, to the soft material of her camisole. Without being totally conscious of it himself, he slipped a finger underneath the thin shoulder strap. "Is that why it took so long?"

"I'm actually not sure," she answered because she'd never had to face him after a failed mission. Pathetically aware that he was touching her, she scooted closer. It felt so good, the way his fingers were gently skimming over her sensitized skin. Because she would much rather concentrate on Jim and what he was doing, she forced herself to remember the debriefing. Part of the reason why it had taken so long was the Chief had to excuse himself to take a call from another agent. When he'd come back, he'd been unusually distracted. She hesitated to gather her thoughts and then shared what she found the most puzzling aspect of her debriefing, "Chief Ogilvie had to stop it for a while. When he returned, he wasn't exactly his normal self. I can't put my finger on it but…something was definitely different about him."

It was his turn to clear his throat. The looks the other agents gave him when he boarded the helicopter was fresh in his mind. The same expression had been reflected on a few of the other agents he'd passed in the corridors of this very building, with her by side. It was easy to see that they had all been flabbergasted by his presence. A flush worked its way across his face. Staring straight ahead, he mumbled, "Maybe it's because I…uh…tagged along?"

Letting out a sharp gasp, Trixie turned and sat straight up, just missing bumping into his chin by an inch. "Oh, no, it's not that," she declared fiercely, resting an insistent hand on his chest. She doubted if the Chief had been overly ecstatic about Jim's change in flight plans since he preferred that his agents didn't have any types of ties at all. But Trixie figured he'd have to give her a break. After all, he'd recruited her knowing full well that she came with a complex set of ties that were not only tangled but unbreakable, too. She bit her bottom lip. "No. It's got to be something else."

"Like what?" Using her shoulder strap, Jim tugged her back to his side and was rewarded with a small hum of approval.

"I don't know. I truly don't. He'll clue me in if he needs to." She ended on a little shoulder shrug. For once, she couldn't dredge up the curiosity needed to figure out why the Chief had been so distracted. Nope. She didn't want to question it…or find the answer to it, either. At least, not right now. Studying the row of brown buttons on his shirt, she admitted to herself that she had someone much better to focus on right now. Work could wait.

"Is it important?" Jim hoped it wasn't. He didn't want it to; would much rather have Trixie all to himself, for as long as possible.

Trixie gave a quick shake of her head. "I don't think so. If it was, he would have let us know right away. There was probably a glitch in another mission, something that he had to take care of right away." She lifted her shoulder again. "I doubt it's anything we need to worry about."

Using his thumb, Jim traced the fine line of her jaw. "Good to hear," he murmured huskily. The emerald heated when she let out a little sigh of approval. He leaned in, desiring more than just a mere touch.

Since he'd had the pleasure of spending the past six days with them, Max made sure to knock loudly on the door before entering the small office. He held out two eco-friendly containers to them as a peace offering, just in case he'd interrupted something, which, judging from the bright splotches of red decorating his partner's face, he most definitely had. He wisely hid a smirk and held up a cup. A heavenly scent permeated the room. "Good morning," he greeted them, his voice much too cheerful for so early in the morning.

Damning her partner in her mind, Trixie resettled herself against the sofa. Or, more accurately, back against Jim. Then she sniffed. "Is that coffee I smell?" she inquired hopefully, already reaching out for hers.

Smiling indulgently, Max handed it over. Seeing that the two people present had a good portion of the sofa occupied, he settled for leaning up against her desk and offered the second one over to Frayne. Although it was hard, he gamely swallowed a comment about how comfortable they looked together. It was too damn early to tease her. And he was too damn tired. "You can thank Heidi. She brought them in with her."

"I'll definitely remember to thank her." Murmuring happily, Trixie first inhaled the sweet smell of caffeine before taking a small sip that went a long ways towards combating her own fatigue. Instant awareness in a cup. After a second shot, she shared with Jim, already feeling more awake and aware than she had a few moments earlier, "Heidi's a good friend of ours. She's an agent, too, although she doesn't go out into the field much. She has a much harder job, though. She's the personal assistant to our Chief."

"She heard we were back." Max stretched out the kinks in his long legs, then went on to crack his neck. "She knew we'd be exhausted after our long night so she stopped for coffee on her way into the agency today."

Feeling suddenly and unexpectedly content, with absolutely no desire to move from her comfortable spot, Trixie slipped off her shoes and curled her feet up underneath her. With a tilt to her head, she contemplated the position she was in. Here she was, sitting in her tiny office, with Jim on one side and a warm cup of coffee on the other. It more than made up for her sleepless night. She held up her container to Max in a silent salute and stated, "I take it she wanted to say something to you like…so long, farewell. Right?"

"So long as she doesn't sing it, I'll be fine," Max joked, earning both a chuckle and a grin from her. He'd already come to the same conclusion. It was very early for Heidi to be reporting in. There could only be one reason for it. He winked at Trixie and shared in a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm also supposed to stop by her office before I leave."

"Ahh. She's throwing you a little going away party, huh?" Trixie concluded correctly, smiling up at Max and having no clue that she was looking the most relaxed he'd ever seen her.

"That's what I think." Hitching a lean hip to the side, he grabbed his cell from its holder and looked down at his most recent text. A grin slowly worked its way across his face. "Here's our next piece of evidence. I just got a text from Joss. If you can believe this, she just told me not to hurry home." He let out a bark of a laugh. "It's quite a radical change for her. She's spent the past week bombarding me with questions about when I was going to come back home."

"So…that means she's probably on her way here, too." Feeling no sympathy for him, Trixie laughed at him. From seven years of working with him, she understood that he absolutely hated having any kind of a fuss made over him. He much preferred hiding in the shadows. He couldn't stand being the center of attention. It looked like he wasn't going to be able to leave the agency without one. Or, at least, what passed for a farewell celebration in their agency. "Congratulations, Max. You get to be the man of the hour."

He rolled his eyes. "Only the CDA would throw together a retirement party at…" Max glanced down again to check the time. Both of his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Roughly 5:20 in the morning."

"Hey. You deserve it, no matter what the time." Grinning into her cup, she settled further against Jim's body.

"Yeah, well…" He shrugged it off, left it at that, and reached into his back pocket for a small surprise for her. "I completed one of my last official tasks as a CDA agent. Do you want to know what it was?"

She ignored his deceptively innocent expression and crossed her arms over her chest, a surprisingly difficult task with a half-cup of coffee in one hand. "All right. All right. I'll play. What was your last official task?"

"It's my second to last one. You'll want to remember that," he stressed, wondering what she would think of his very last official task, the one he'd just completed. His eyes quickly slid to Jim and then back to her. He rather hoped he was around when they found out. Their reaction would be priceless. The thought made the edge of one lip curl up in amusement. Getting back to the matter at hand, he pulled the object out of his pocket, flipped the key chain up in the air with a flourish, and caught it before it could crash to the floor. "I had another agent stop by your house and bring your car here. You now have transportation home."

"Gleeps!" she exclaimed, sitting up once again. Normally Max or another agent would offer her a ride to her house. She gifted Max with a slightly guilty smile because she hadn't given it a thought and reached out for her key chain. "Thanks for thinking of it."

Her house. They were going to her house. Hearing the two of them discussing it made his own fatigue fade away. He inclined his head to the side, curious about what her house would look like. He had never seen any pictures of it; never heard any of the others talk about it. All he knew was that it was in San Diego and very close to the beach. Because of her hectic schedule, no one had ever been able to visit. Not a Belden, not a Bob-White. No one. He was going to be the very first visitor. How ironic…how magnificently so. Jim straightened against the sofa, astonished by the realization.

"Before you leave, you need to see Heidi, too." Gesturing to the huge diamond sitting on the end of her finger, Max added, "You have to turn that monstrosity of a ring in."

Since Heidi generally collected any of the valuables used on a mission, whether they were a piece of high-tech hardware or an article of jewelry, Trixie already suspected as much. She started to play with the ostentatious ring. "But it's just so pretty," she lamented playfully, a muffled laugh in her voice. Batting her eyelashes, she pondered aloud, "How on earth am I ever going to be able to give it up?"

"Trust me. It won't be that hard." Knowing how much she hated the ring, Max allowed his grin to widen and grow, wanting to end their work relationship with a smile on his face and hopefully a laugh in the air. The truth was he was really going to miss working with her. Once he walked through the front doors, his time with the agency would be officially over. "Now, I have to get to my office, start my packing and all."

"What packing?" Trixie questioned sarcastically. They didn't keep anything of personal import in their offices. Finding a supply of much-needed energy, courtesy of the half-cup of coffee she'd already consumed, she bounded to her feet with the resiliency she was known for. "We don't exactly fill our offices with knickknacks."

Max pushed himself off the desk. "I've got to busy myself for a while longer. I can't step a single toe in Heidi's office for another half-hour, at least." He arched an eyebrow. "I have my orders."

"I see," Trixie mumbled under her breath. Knowing that his departure was looming made her long to say something, anything, about their time together, as partners and friends. She hesitated, then quickly threw her arms around him. There was a lot she wanted to say, a lot she needed to say. So many words were right there, right on the tip of the tongue. But none of them would come out. The one and only phrase she could force was the simple and the trite. She counteracted it with an extra fierce hug. "Thanks again, Max."

"I take it this is your way of telling me you won't be making it to the party, huh?" Keeping it light, wanting this good-bye to be free and easy, he whispered it quietly, just for her benefit, and had the pleasure of watching her blush again.

Since that was exactly what she intended, Trixie ducked her head and nodded once in acknowledgement. The words almost stuck in her throat. "It would be too hard."

"Trust me. I hear you," he remarked after a moment, his voice thick with emotion. Although Jocelyn had warned him, he hadn't expected his last time at the agency to be so difficult. It truly felt like he was leaving behind his family, which was exactly how she'd told him it would feel.

"Keep in touch," she ordered him as she stepped back from him, her eyes on the ground. "You've got to keep in touch, both you and Jocelyn. I need to hear about everything, especially when that beautiful little baby of yours is born." She shook an unsteady finger at him. "Don't forget about me."

"I won't." He tapped her nose before giving her his last order. "Now. You. Don't forget to see Heidi."

"I'll go right now." Trixie called up a last smile for him and watched with a layer of tears blurring her vision as the door closed behind him. She welcomed the warm arms wrapping behind her and snuggled back into Jim. "I'm really going to miss working with him," she admitted, feeling the sting of a farewell to a good friend and workmate.

"He's a good man." Jim tightened his hold. Over the past few days, he'd seen the bond the two had formed together, had recognized how well they had worked together and how much they'd trusted each other. It was obvious that they meant a lot to each other.

Trixie resolutely blinked the sudden wetness away. After drawing in a quick breath of air, she grabbed her keys and pointed at the door, knowing that a swift break was going to be for the best. She wouldn't do well if she made it to his farewell party. "We need to find Heidi. Max is right. It's time to get rid of this hideously ugly ring."

"All right," Jim agreed easily, studying her closely. He inwardly applauded the way she kept herself together, how she didn't let her emotions take control of her. By the time they stepped over the threshold and out into the hallway there weren't any telltale signs left. She looked completely composed. He slipped his larger hand over her smaller one, gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze, the only sign that let her know he was aware of her emotional response to Max's leaving than she realized. He was more than eager to get her last chore completed because then they would be on their way to her house, away from the agency, and completely alone. "Let's go."


	40. Chapter 40

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Forty

Trixie's pace slowed as she approached the back door of the agency. Her emotional state bounced around between excitement and nervousness, with exhaustion flittering right around the edge. At least the exhaustion could be combated. The caffeine jingling through her system was an excellent ally. But the nerves warring with excitement made for an incredible set of unsettled feelings, and all brought on because the mission was finally over. Now she was onto the aftermath. Here she was, preparing to embark on it, with the most startling partner at her side. Never, in a million years, would she ever have predicted that Jim Frayne would be walking right next to her, waiting for her to take him back to her house. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she slanted him a shy look, hardly daring to believe that he was there. Fighting the insane urge to giggle hysterically while twirling around in tiny circles like the heroine in the latest romantic comedy, she pushed open the last barrier between them and the outside world and stepped out into the early morning California sun. She needed to blink furiously to counteract the brightness; a direct contrast to the deep darkness that had shrouded the building upon their late night arrival. "Gleeps! It really is morning."

With one hand on the doorknob, Jim tossed a lazy grin her way. His system was revved, whether from the caffeine, the short rest he'd stolen during the long hours of the night, or because of the woman herself. He leaned against the door and tucked a flyaway curl back behind her ear. His fingers lightly caressed her cheek before dropping back to his side. "It's been a long night."

"You can say that again." Closing her eyes, Trixie lifted her head to the sky and breathed in the fresh air, completely oblivious of the becoming picture she made with the first rays breaking through the sky. Jim's green eyes lit up with unconcealed interest. She covered a small yawn with her hand before sharing, "I think the coffee gave me enough energy to get us back to my place. I'm absolutely exhausted. How 'bout you?"

"Not too bad," he replied huskily, unable to look anywhere else but at her. Whether it was day or night, the pretty California scenery had nothing on her. "I caught a short nap while you were in your debriefing."

Slowly, her eyelids flittered back open. A small sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan floated past her lips, causing his blood to heat. "Oh. My. A nap. Sounds heavenly." Pushing herself off the building, she inclined her head towards the parking lot and, with a move that had somehow become completely natural to her again, grabbed his hand. She gave a small tug. "Come on, Jim. Let's get to my house. A nap is definitely on the agenda."

As he automatically laced his longer fingers through hers, Jim couldn't help but notice how she always referred to her house as, well, as her house. She never called it her home. Never. He cocked his head to the side, finding it odd. Because they'd regained a closeness that had been sorely lacking from his life over the past seven years, he opened his mouth, about to question her on it, when an interruption came from the parking lot itself.

"Hey! Belden! Hold that door!" an out of breath voice ordered loudly, cutting through the serene peacefulness of the early morning.

Trixie dropped his hand. Her mouth fell to the graveled ground. Beaming, she waved excitedly, calling her friend over. She'd know that voice anywhere. "Jocelyn!" she shouted happily. "You're here!"

Jocelyn's answering smile was as wide as her belly. Glowing with excitement, she moved as fast as her unborn baby would allow and threw her arms around Trixie, delighted. As she squeezed her friend tight, she caught sight of the silent man with her well-trained peripheral vision. Max, damn him, hadn't informed her that there'd been a stowaway on the trip home. She back-burnered the issue, knowing she'd have the chance soon to pester Max for the answers to her sudden avalanche of questions. Concentrating on Trixie, she hugged her once more before exclaiming, "It's so damn good to have you back!"

"You mean it's so damn good to have Max back," Trixie corrected with a light laugh. With the bond the two had, she didn't ask for permission. She rested both hands on Jocelyn's stomach, felt the strength of the baby underneath. A look of amazement crossed her face. "Well, just look at you, Jocelyn," she breathed softly, staggered by the sensation. She lifted her head, met the knowing gaze of the mom-to-be. "You're magnificent!"

"Hah, hah," Jocelyn remarked sarcastically although her eyes gleamed with pleasure. She tossed back her hastily-created French braid and patted her belly proudly. "It seems like I gain a new pound every single hour and a fresh inch around my waist each day. Ace, here, is growing as fast as he can. With the rate he's growing, I'm expecting to give birth to a giant."

"Wait until Max sees you," Trixie said, knowing better than to touch the risky topic of weight gain with a pregnant woman. There never was a successful way to win. "He's going to flip."

"Considering the last time he saw me was right after we returned home from our trip to the emergency room last week, I have a feeling you may be right," Jocelyn replied with a deep sigh. The whole experience had frightened her more than any of the missions she'd completed as a CDA agent, proof that their unborn little one meant more than anything in the entire world. She hadn't wanted to send Max to Vegas, had wanted him to stay behind with her, but she also hadn't wanted Trixie to brave the mission alone. Then there was the added fact that it was Max's last mission. He couldn't miss it. Although, when she really thought about it, he hadn't participated in it as fully as he'd planned on it. Her eyes swung to the man who, through an odd quirk of fate, had unintentionally taken her husband's place. She studied him unobtrusively, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

Unaware that Jocelyn was eyeing Jim, Trixie let out a sympathetic murmur. "I heard about the scare. Max told me right after he got to Vegas. I can't tell you how happy I am that everything is fine, for both you and the baby," she said sincerely.

"You and me both." Jocelyn gave her stomach one last pat, as if assuring herself and the baby within that all really was fine. Wanting to change the subject, she nudged Trixie and angled her head in the direction of the silent man standing behind them, holding the door open. Although she knew his identity, she insisted, "Come on, Belden. You're being rude. Don't you think you should introduce me to your friend?"

"Right!" Trixie felt yet another cursed blush work its way on her face. She ignored it to the best of her abilities. "Jocelyn, this is my good…" She stumbled slightly, unsure exactly what to term Jim. Friend? Partner? Lover? Dear Lord, all three fit, and then some. Nervously, she started to play with the little gold ring that encircled her left ring finger. For reasons she didn't want to admit in public, and, thank goodness, no one had questioned her yet, she hadn't offered the wedding ring over when she'd turned in the ugly engagement ring. Her blush level increased to new heights when she finally settled on the most obvious, and the least telling, word, "friend Jim Frayne. He's from New York. As you know, he, kinda…umm…helped us out in Vegas."

"Hmm. I seem to remember hearing something along those lines." Jocelyn's sharp inquisitive stare raked over Jim, missing nothing. Trixie, she quickly decided, had definitely hooked herself a keeper. Keeping her thoughts firmly to herself, she turned a brilliant smile on him. "So you're the famous Jim Frayne. I'm Jocelyn Donovan. You took my Max's spot back in Vegas."

Jim nodded back at her, smiling politely, although her unwavering stare made him nervous. "It's nice to meet you, Jocelyn."

Correctly reading the look on her friend's face, knowing that she was about to begin interrogating Jim, Trixie quickly steered the conversation in another direction. She grabbed Jocelyn's arm. With a small lift of an eyebrow, she let out a loud snort and grumbled out, "I never got a chance to thank you for all your help."

"What are you talking about?" Momentarily forgetting Jim, Jocelyn whirled around to scowl at Trixie.

She fluttered her hands over her clothes. Though they were rumpled and had more than a few spots stained a dark red with Mr. Young's dried blood, she figured Jocelyn would get the picture rather quickly. "Thank you," she stated, the sarcasm dripping from her lips.

"Oh!" Feeling guilty, she glanced down at her meticulously painted fingernails. Not wanting to look at her friend, Jocelyn pretended to flick off a nonexistent piece of lint from her light yellow maternity dress, and wished Heidi was there to help field their friend's ire. It had been fun planning Trixie's wardrobe for the mission but…she didn't relish the inevitable showdown. Finally, she sighed and mumbled without meeting Trixie's eyes, "I really am sorry."

"No, you're not." Trixie grumbled out of the side of her mouth, not believing the apology for a moment. "But you should be."

"For what?" Jim inserted himself into the conversation, confused by the entire exchange.

Trixie pointed an accusing finger at her friend, who was currently blowing her attempt at apologetic by hooting with laughter into the hands that covered her face. She ignored the laughter pouring out of Jocelyn's mouth and rolled her eyes to the blue sky above. "She's one-half of the team that helped design my wardrobe for the past week."

"Oh, well, in that case…" Jim stepped forward, a lopsided grin on his face. Reaching out, he picked up Jocelyn's hand, bringing an abrupt end to her laughter. He flustered her further when he pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I really must thank you."

Charmed and delighted, Jocelyn released one last giggle. Through all the years she'd worked with Trixie, she'd never known what to make of one James Winthrop Frayne II. Her friend had always been closemouthed over him. Always. But, as she looked into his laughing emerald green eyes, she decided that she liked him. A lot. It seemed her girl had done well. She shot Trixie a triumphant look before declaring, "At least someone appreciates my taste."

Trixie gave a loud, derisive and completely unladylike snort. "Yeah, right. Like I've ever seen you dolled up in any of the ridiculous creations you and Heidi foisted off on me."

Ignoring her and her penchant for snorting, Jocelyn turned back to Jim. Her face simply alight with interest, she leaned in and declared, "You've got to tell me something. I simply have to know. What was your favorite outfit?"

He didn't hesitate. After all, he was a red-blooded male. "The purple bikini."

"Oh. The bikini," Jocelyn looked back at Trixie, who was now kicking the gravel on the sidewalk and grumbling under her breath, and winked. "She should really be thanking me _and _meaning it. I picked that particular suit out for her. Heidi wanted to go with this awful tie-dyed little number. You know, the kind with cute shapes right above certain female body parts. Bulls-eyes, if memory serves me right."

When Trixie lifted her head and released a noise that resembled a feral growl, Jim decided that she'd had enough. Gamely swallowing his own laughter, he swiftly changed the subject. "I enjoyed working with your husband, Jocelyn. He's very good at his job."

Wanting to leave the subject of her clothes in the Las Vegas dust, Trixie quickly inserted, "Max is inside. He's hanging out in his office. He says he's packing up but you and I both know that he doesn't have anything at all to pack up. He just wants to give Heidi time to set up for the party."

"That sounds about right." Jocelyn pulled Trixie into a quick hug, suddenly eager to be on her way. She'd missed her husband. And she wanted to be there when he made it to the little party in Heidi's office. "It's great to have you back, by the way. I heard Vegas was a real hoot."

"And a half," Trixie quipped back, with a small shake of her head. "Take care, Jocelyn."

About to ask why she wasn't coming to the party, Jocelyn opened her mouth and then quickly closed it. She understood why Trixie wasn't making it. Too emotional. And, she thought with a small smirk, Trixie also had a very special guest she needed to get tucked away at her house. With her smirk turning into a pleased Cheshire cat grin, Jocelyn waved them away. "Go. Get some sleep or whatever else you need. I'll be in touch later."

_Whatever else you need._ She knew what she needed. He was currently standing behind her, with his hand resting against the small of her back. Breathing in deeply, Trixie waited until the door closed behind Jocelyn. "Follow me, Jim," she said quietly. Together, they walked through the nearly empty parking lot, past Jocelyn's little red Fiat and a dark SUV, finally stopping when they reached a sporty little Jetta, sleek and gray. Fishing her keys out of her pocket, she beeped it open and settled into the driver's seat without a fuss, only taking a second to smile when Jim took possession of the passenger's seat. Quickly turning on the ignition, she threw the car in reverse and expertly backed up.

With one hand fiddling with the seatbelt strap, Jim glanced around the interior. Speck-free. It was cleaner than his. And he worked hard to keep his car clean. He arched an eyebrow, thinking if he sniffed hard enough, he'd still be able to smell the remnants of that famous new car smell, even though the car had to be at least three years old. He waited until she turned out onto the quiet street before saying, "I hope you don't mind me saying this but your car is really clean."

She lifted a shoulder as she answered, "I don't get a chance to drive it too much." She drove through the nearly empty parking lot and out onto the quiet San Diego streets before they got busy with the crowd rushing to work. Because she didn't want music right now, she turned the radio off when they reached the red light at the end of the street. Looking straight ahead, she added, "I spend most of my time away, working for the agency. This poor thing hasn't seen much action since I bought it a few years back. I imagine it must be pretty bored."

Cocking his head to the side, Jim got a good look at the odometer. "I should say so," he murmured, surprised at how few miles were on the car.

She shared an amused look with him before the light turned to green. "What can I say? My work doesn't allow for much free time."

"I'm beginning to understand that." Jim frowned. He sat back against the comfortable seat, the remnants of his coffee cooling in his cup, and watched the pretty surroundings as they rolled by, digesting all that he was learning about California Trixie. At the crux of it was the realization that she didn't do much else out here but work. She was obviously close to the friends at the agency. As to any other friends, he was beginning to seriously doubt if she ever socialized with anyone other than her workmates.

Surprisingly, she didn't feel the urge to keep a conversation going with Jim. Instead, she slipped easily into his lead and allowed a comfortable silence to fill the interior of the vehicle. Almost driving on auto pilot, she made it to her house in record time. "We're here," she told him softly, suddenly anxious about what he'd think when he saw her house, especially the inside.

Eager for his first look, Jim glanced out the window. _Cheerful_ was the first word that came to mind. It was white, with a front door in a light shade of gray. Matching shutters bordered each set of windows. A friendly porch outlined the entire front of it, inviting any guests to come and rest for a while. That is, should she ever have any guests come over. Lovely flowers served as another decoration, both on the ground and in sweetly hanging baskets. He didn't know their names; correctly guessed that Trixie didn't, either. He studied it for the longest of time while his heart started to hammer wildly in his chest. Amazingly he was here, at her house, with no one else around. To him, it didn't get much better than that. Finally, he tore his attention away to stare directly at her. The green of his eyes drilled into hers when he stated, intentionally using the word _home_, "We've made it to your home."

"Yeah, we have. My house has some pretty awesome views of the sea," she said, dropping her gaze first. She busied herself by unbuckling her seatbelt. She didn't even realize she corrected him. Throwing back her door, she nearly bounced out of the car. "The most amazing view is from my deck. It's the best part of my house, if you ask me."

"I think it would be." Jim slowly unhooked his seatbelt and proceeded with much less speediness as he got out of the car. His feet hit the pavement while he looked at the small beach house again. He was about to enter it, with her welcoming him in. Suddenly, he didn't feel as tired as he'd been only moments ago. He felt strangely energized.

Chewing nervously on her bottom lip, Trixie came around the hood of her car and put out a hand on his chest to stop him from traveling the path that led to her front door. Concentrating on the way her fingers looked against the softness of his fabric, she called up the energy to warn him. "Before we go in, there's probably something you should know."

First Jim stared at the small hand on his chest, then he stared at her. "What's that?"

"This house?" she said apprehensively, gesturing towards it nervously as if there was a question about what house she could be talking about. "I didn't buy it myself. I didn't choose it. It was a present from someone I helped through the agency on one of my assignments."

Someone gave her a house as a thank-you present. Tucking his thumbs into his back pockets, he let out a low whistle, wondering what she'd done to earn it. "That's some gift."

Embarrassed, she gave a tiny chuckle. She inhaled sharply before the words came out in a tumbling mess, "Anyway, I'm not here much, as you now know, especially since we've spent the past week working together. And, well, I think you need to know that I never took the time to change the inside of the house. It's…" Giggling slightly, she came to a fumbling stop.

"Go on," Jim encouraged, more curious now than ever.

"Well, it's not really my style. Exactly," she added, blowing out a frustrated breath because she wasn't able to explain it well. Oh well. Seeing would be better. Grabbing his hand again, she started up the path, practically dragging him behind her. "You'll understand once you get inside. I know you will. It'll kinda drill you right between the eyes."

"Now you've got me really curious," he remarked, watching her fit her house key in the lock.

Before she opened the door, she turned back and shook a finger in his face. "You've got to promise me. No teasing, all right?"

"I won't tease you," he insisted, intent on keeping his promise. He held his fingers up to prove his Boy Scout honor.

After taking a second to prepare herself, Trixie pushed the door in and stepped aside. She fought the urge to close her eyes and valiantly kept them open, although she couldn't bring herself to look directly at him. "I'll need to deactivate the alarm system," she mumbled, making a bee-line for the painting that hid its presence.

Speechless, Jim barely remembered to close the front door behind them. He swore his jaw actually hit the floor. Good God. It was as if the color pink had exploded, ruthlessly reaching out to encompass anything within its path. Holy hell. Then there were miles and miles of thick, white carpeting. White carpeting! And the knickknacks and curios. There must be a million and one of them. He almost gasped but swallowed it back just in time. Never, in a million years, would he have ever pictured Trixie's home looking like this. Frilly, feminine, fussy. It looked like her house was the setting for an endless tea party. "Wow," he finally said, weakly and unable to tear his eyes away.

That one word said it all. "I'm with you there," she grumbled, dropping her keys on the small white decorative table by the door. She risked a glance at him. In for a penny, in for a pound. He needed to be warned. "By the way, it gets worse. The pink never ends. Never. It just goes on and on, like the carpet."

"It's…something, all right," he replied, for once at a total loss on how to respond. Wide-eyed, feeling like he was gawking, he followed her across the foyer. Trying to take it all in, he nearly ran into her when she stopped suddenly.

Trixie started to laugh. She couldn't help it. She stepped off to the side. "Look, Jim. Our suitcases are already here."

The statement brought him out of his preoccupation with the overwhelming and frivolous feel of her house. Seriously, could it get any pinker? Or creamier? God, it was like standing inside a strawberry shortcake. He even thought he saw a small statue of one, over there on a shelf. Gulping, he turned around. "Our suitcases?"

"Max never lets me down," she whispered softly with a shake of her curly head. "After you changed destinations, he must have contacted our clean-up crew and had them send your things over here, too. See?"

Sure enough, his belongings were there, sitting right next to hers. Something about the sight seemed so perfect to him, so right. He fingered the strap of his carry-on. "It's a good thing he did. I never once thought about clothes."

Seeing an envelope attached to one of her suitcases, Trixie quickly ripped into it. It startled a laugh out of her.

"What does it say?" He dropped the strap.

She slanted a look his way, unsure whether to be thankful or horrified. "It's from Max. He says that both Jocelyn and Heidi insist I keep the clothes from our trip." She shook her head, making her curls bounce and muttered under her breath, "As if I'll ever wear any of those godforsaken clothes again."

Trixie turned away too quickly so she missed the light of interest flicker on his face. There were more than a few outfits he wouldn't mind seeing her in again he thought. Remembering, Jim followed her down the little step with a jaunty little hop and into her living room. Other than the color scheme and the décor, the house had a lot of positives about it. He liked the open floor plan, the way one room flowed effortlessly into another. But, as his foot bumped into a small stool in the shape of sheep, he couldn't help but think there was some serious need for improvement.

Since the sectional looked extremely inviting, Trixie didn't waste a second. She flopped down on it, appreciated the way she sank into the soft material. Reaching down, she slipped off her shoes, gave them a negligent toss and rested her head against the well cushioned back. It felt so incredibly relaxing. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed. "Gleeps!" Trixie exclaimed, stretching one arm high above her head. "I can't believe how tired I am."

"Going a full day and night without sleep tends to do that," Jim murmured, his lips threatening to twitch. He chose not to add another truth. The two of them hadn't exactly rested all that much the night before last, either. One edge of his lip curled up in pure male appreciation while he recalled the various ways they had chosen to spend the hours of that memorable night, leaving him certain of one thing. It was all the proof he needed. There were instances when sleep was definitely overrated.

She cracked open an eye. She hadn't mistaken the humor in his voice. "Yeah. Go ahead and laugh. At least you were able to find some time to nap." Since her tired body was practically begging to rest, she curled up into the corner and closed her eyes again. Waving an airy hand in the direction of the rest of the house, she shared in a voice thick with the need for sleep, "I think the effects of my early morning coffee have already worn off. Feel free to poke around the house, help yourself to anything you want. And, whatever you do, don't wake me up."

Smiling, he watched her snuggle against the fluffy magenta throw pillows. "Take all the time you need," he said, although he seriously doubted if she heard him. Pulling a cream colored blanket from the back of a chair, he spread it out and over her. Then he tortured himself some more and tucked it around her hips and legs, all the while ordering himself not to touch her too much. It proved to be a tough order to follow, he realized as his hand trailed along her thigh. Clearing his throat, he made himself stand back. "There. That's got to be better."

She made a small noise he took as approval and didn't offer another word. Already feeling the lure of sleep, she turned to the side. One more little moan and she was out.

Jim moved in closer, just to look at her. He reached forward, brushed back a long curl that fell across her forehead. He chuckled when her pert nose crinkled in response. Then, wanting her to get as much rest as she possibly could, he took her advice and started poking around. Picking up a porcelain doll that he thought looked an awful lot like Little Bo Peep from the famous nursery rhyme, he gave it an odd look. "I never thought Trixie would own a doll," he said to himself, carefully replacing it back on its stand. Dolls and Trixie just did not go hand-in-hand.

Looking back to ascertain that she was really asleep, he walked through the large living room, taking notice of all of the frilly and frivolous objects decorating the room. Crocheted doilies, porcelain dolls, little china figurines. All were objects he never expected Trixie Belden to own, let alone have on display in her house, and all the evidence he needed that she was right. She didn't spend a lot of time there. It wasn't her home; not by a long shot. It was just a house. She didn't live here; she merely existed within its four walls. The blinding realization chased away the lingering smile on his lips; made him glance back at her and sigh. At the moment all he wanted to do was gather her in his arms, to chase away any of the gaping loneliness she must have experienced during her time away from Sleepyside. But she was sleeping. Since he didn't want to wake her up, his feet took him away from the living room while his mind was still on her.

A short walk brought him into her kitchen. Again, the pink color scheme was carried through this room. He couldn't help but notice how ruthlessly clean the whole room was. It gleamed as shiny and bright as the kitchen in the Manor House. Because he was hungry, he walked over to the refrigerator, started rooting through it, and quickly saw that perishables like milk and eggs were noticeably absent from within, probably because she could never determine how long she was going to be away. He settled for a bottle of water, searched through a cabinet and hit pay dirt when he found a box of pop-tarts. Fueled by his not exactly nutritious breakfast, he continued on his tour into her life.

He looked into each room he walked past, made mental notes on each of them. A small room that served as both a guest room and an exercise room. It held a twin-size bed, as well as a stationary bike, her favored elliptical, and a few free weights. And a stereo system, he saw with a grin, remembering how she'd turned up the music when she was running off her mad, right at the start of their working relationship together, only a few days earlier. The memory made him chuckle. It wasn't the only room along the hall, though. There was a good-sized bathroom, a hall closet, and a small room for her washer and dryer. All necessary rooms but not what he was looking for.

And then he came to the end of the hall. The room he wanted to enter was there, just waiting for him to walk into. Her bedroom. Jim came to a halt on the threshold. He shot one quick, almost guilty, look behind him, to see if he was being observed, before he entered into the room. It was a fairly large room but the king-sized bed in the middle of it captured the majority of its space. He ran his fingers along the white coverlet, shook his head at the large pink roses embroidered into it. Then he got a good look at the headboard. Frowning, he peered closer. Were those…why, yes, they were. Little naked cherubs and roses were etched out of the white wood of the headboard, as well as along the footboard. A wide grin split his face. "Trix," he mumbled, trying hard not to laugh, "we really have to get you a new bed."

Tearing his attention from her bed, he glanced up, saw the row of picture frames sitting on the matching dresser. It was the first time something in her home made him pause. So far they were the only additions to the house that he knew with one hundred percent certainty that belonged totally to Trixie. He walked over to them. Gently fingering the wooden frames, he smiled down at the photos of Honey and Brian, Mart and Di, and the one of Dan on his graduation day from Syracuse. He studied the picture of the entire Belden clan, taken when Bobby graduated from high school, a little closer, although he didn't look terribly long at Peter Belden's face. Self-preservation at its best. He came to the last picture, a group shot of the Bob-Whites. He remembered when it was taken; during the rehearsal dinner for Mart and Di's wedding. It was the only frame he picked up. He couldn't help but notice that Trixie stood at the far left and he…well, he was at the far right, with as much distance residing between them as they both could possibly manufacture. A true testament to the separate lives they once lived.

But no longer. Even though he had the exact same picture in a photo album at his apartment, given to him as a gift by Mart and Di shortly after they came back from their honeymoon, he examined the photograph for the longest of times. And then he did the most surprising thing, something he'd never done when he'd looked at it. He smiled; a great big, wide smile. "It's never going to happen again," he promised himself, putting the frame back on the dresser with a decided click. "Never." He turned away. With a whistle on the air, he left her room.

Searching for something to do, he walked back through the house. He stopped for a moment, glanced in the direction of the French doors and the deck with the amazing view Trixie promised him. He almost went through the doors before he decided to check on her instead. And, really, she was the only view he wanted to see. Silent feet brought him back to the living room, where she was now curled as comfortable as possible into the corner of the sectional, her legs tucked up underneath her and one hand lying on the top of the creamy white blanket.

It wasn't just any hand resting on the blanket. It was her left hand, the hand that still sported a thin band of gold. Nothing ostentatious, nothing flashy, just a small, ordinary circle that stood for something extraordinary and lasting. Moving towards her, he rubbed a finger over her ring, and glanced down at the matching one on his finger. He hadn't taken his off, either. In fact, he had no desire to take it off. Giving her hand one last squeeze, he wondered if she was of the same mindset.

Hoping he didn't wake her, Jim grabbed her luggage, carried it through the house and left it in the guest room. Somehow, he understood that she would never unpack any of the clothes within. In fact, she'd probably use them to start the biggest bonfire the beach had ever seen, making him chuckle again. When he went back for his things, he also grabbed her special bag, the one that contained her own clothes, as well as his NYU T-shirt, and followed his path back through the house. This time, he strode straight past the guest room. While depositing his belongings in her bedroom made an extremely strong statement, he knew that nothing could match his decision to fly away with her instead of going back to New York. She had to know what he wanted, what he intended, what he desired, with his change in plans. If she didn't…The emerald of his eyes darkened with purpose. Well, he'd make damn sure she knew before the night ended.

Since the attached bathroom looked inviting and he really wanted to get out of the clothes he'd already spent the majority of an entire day in, Jim rummaged through his bag and pulled out the necessary items and peeled off his old clothes. The shower had to have been one of the best he'd ever have the pleasure of experiencing. Refreshing and invigorating; he let it run long and hot. When he was finished, he stepped out from her bedroom, clean, freshly dressed and feeling more awake and aware than he had been before.

But she was still sleeping when he checked on her again, was making those small humming noises in her sleep that he found incredibly erotic. Since he couldn't resist, he brushed a small kiss over her forehead, gave his curl a gentle tug, and left for the kitchen again. Ten minutes later there was a fresh coffee in the pot, enough for him and for her. He poured himself a quick cup and then finally allowed himself to enjoy her favorite place at her house: the deck.

She was right. The view was stunning. A gorgeous sky that went for just about ever, with beautiful lacy white clouds highlighting the deep blue. A line of waves, rolling and crashing against the sand in a dance only nature knew the time to, its sound a pure and beautiful rhythm. He slowly sank down onto the steps, kicked off his shoes, and immediately started toeing his way into the soft, smooth sand. "She's got a beautiful place here," he said quietly, leaning back and slipping his sunglasses onto his face, to counteract the startling brightness of the sun. He took a sip of his coffee and then stated the truth a short sojourn through her house had taught him. "But it's not home."


	41. Chapter 41

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Forty-One

She awoke slowly, first with one long, lazy stretch of a leg, then with an impatient brush of a curl as it fell across her nose, and finally with a gentle flip over to her back. Blue eyes opened wide, looked straight up at the creamy white ceiling above her. Disoriented, Trixie scrubbed a hand over her face as she attempted to place the ceiling in her mind. Realization slowly broke through the fog. She was at her house, in San Diego. With…with…with Jim! Gasping, she bolted straight up. Craning her neck, she glanced wildly around her, eager for a sight of him and hoping he was there. Her stomach flipped lightly in disappointment when she saw that he wasn't in the room.

Since he wasn't with her, she figured the next best thing was to go and find him. Glad for the chance to be proactive, she stood up, letting the blanket fall to the carpet without a second thought. She kicked her feet out from under it, left it on the floor, and attempted to tame her mass of tumbled curls with her own two hands, all the while giving the room a closer inspection. Something besides Jim was missing. She placed the difference quickly. Their luggage was gone.

Guessing Jim must have spirited the suitcases and bags away while she'd been napping, Trixie left the room, impatient for a glimpse of the handsome red-haired man. She finally spotted him through the sparkling clean glass of her French doors, sitting at a table out on her deck. She pressed her forehead up against the glass, content to watch. The large umbrella had been opened up, offering him a great deal of much-needed shade from the hot summer sun. There was a half-full glass of water at his side and his laptop on his lap. She unconsciously smiled as he focused on the screen of his laptop, unaware that he was being observed, and even allowed herself a dreamy little sigh, a sound she hadn't made since she'd been a young teenager harboring a not-so-secret crush on him.

She enjoyed watching, hardly daring to believe that he was here, only a closed door away from her. And by his own choice, too. She didn't know it but a huge smile wreathed her face, one of pure joy and utter contentment. She reached out for the door handle but her reflection in a nearby mirror captured her attention, causing her to drop her hand and sneer in disgust. She didn't waste a second in cataloguing her faults. Messy curls, which was possibly the worst case of bed-head she'd ever had the pleasure of sporting, a rumpled and blood-stained camisole, and her slashed skirt, all remnants of their previous evening's adventure in Vegas. Her lips pulled back into a scowl. "It's time to throw this outfit out," she muttered derisively. After offering Jim one last look of longing, she pivoted on her bare heels and headed in the opposite direction, down the hall and towards her bedroom.

Questions kept circulating through her mind. All circulated on what Jim thought about her house. Was he shocked? Appalled? Hopefully not. He had a good sense of humor. Maybe he found it humorous. She paused in the middle of the hallway, stared with a discerning eye at the blush pink splashed on the wall to the side. Reaching out, she slowly pressed her fingers against the offending color, inwardly wondering why she'd never taken the time or made the effort to change the interior. The answer came straight at her, all the more simple because it didn't require an ounce of thought. She hadn't cared, not one iota. As simple as that. It hadn't mattered to her. She'd certainly never expected any of her family or friends to visit her house, had always had the excuse of her hectic work schedule when someone would make noises about wanting to visit. Now that someone had…well, she was grateful it was Jim who'd witnessed it. Mart or Dan, and even Honey and Di, would never have let her live it down. Jim, she realized, would be the only person able to see beyond the pink, straight into the heart of the matter, as well as the woman. In record time, too.

She allowed her fingers to trail along the wall until she came to her bedroom. There was the missing luggage. Or, at least, part of it. It sat against the wall; proudly, daringly, and as if it had every right to be residing there, within the confines of her room. The bulk of it didn't belong to her. She crossed the room, fingered the familiar initials engraved on the little silver bar decorating one of the suitcases, while a pleased smile danced across her lips. Jim had made the conscious choice to deposit his belongings here, in her bedroom. A bold and wonderfully appropriate choice. And, a closer inspection showed, he had known to only put her special bag of clothes in here, the one Max had surprised her with in Las Vegas. None of her other suitcases were within eye sight. Thank goodness.

Since a shower was more than necessary, she fumbled through her dresser drawers, hurriedly grabbed the first items she could find, and rushed towards her bathroom, anxious for a cleansing shower and even more anxious to get outside, to be with Jim. She tossed the ruined outfit in the small waste basket, not even making an attempt to salvage it. Rushing through the shower, she was out in record time. Without bothering to dry her hair, she tossed on her clothes and tossed a cursory glance in the mirror. A white button-down tank-top, incredibly plain in its design, and denim cut-offs she'd made out of a pair of old blue jeans. Not an ounce of make-up was applied to her face or a scent of perfume to her skin. Finding nothing amiss, she was out of the room like a shot, her legs making a meal out of the ocean of white carpet below her, stopping only long enough to grab a bottle of water and a granola bar for her mid-afternoon breakfast. After slapping on her sunglasses, she was back at the door, looking out at Jim once again.

The door made a soft sound as it opened. He glanced up from the laptop, an expectant expression on his face. She stood there, framed in the doorway, for a long, long minute. His eyes instantly warmed, as did his smile. "Hey, Trix," he greeted her softly. As a full-blooded male, he'd more than enjoyed the vision she'd made during their Las Vegas adventure together but nothing, nothing, could ever compare to the simple beauty that was her. It grabbed ahold of his heart and squeezed it tight.

Her bare feet hardly made a sound as she traveled over the weather-treated boards of the deck. After pulling out a chair, she settled on the thin cushion, only an arms-length away from him, and put her meager breakfast on the thick glass table-top. "Hey, Jim," she said, sending his own greeting back to him, the brightness of her smile matching the lights of delight in his eyes.

The fruity smell of her shampoo permeated the air, tickling his nose and taunting his senses. He put his laptop on the table, knowing he wouldn't be able to concentrate now, and scooted his chair back, all done so that he could have a better view of her. Wanting to see the full of her face, he took off her sunglasses, ignoring her small cry of surprise. Then he studied her face intently, noticing immediately that her eyes were no longer ringed with violet, that they had regained their normal sparkle. A lovely hint of rose was in her cheeks. The only part he regretted was the light bruising on the side of her face, a remnant from her interrogation at the penthouse. Reaching out, he cupped her injured cheek, his thumb gently tracing over the area. His voice a quiet, comforting murmur, he asked, "Sleep well?"

"Hmm." Feeling the inarticulate noise was answer enough, she automatically turned her face into his capable hand, having already forgotten about the bruise on her cheek. Catching sight of the laptop, she wondered aloud, "What'cha working on?"

A slow flush of embarrassment began staining his cheeks. Because he couldn't help it, he released a low, wry chuckle. "My mother's friend sent me a questionnaire about that stupid restaurant I was supposed to visit back in Vegas. She wants my thoughts on it ASAP. Apparently she needs to make her decision soon."

She pulled back, highly amused. "Ohhh," blew past lips threatening to twitch, understanding the root of his frustration. He didn't have anything to report. After all, he'd never visited the restaurant. And if he admitted that…well, she wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a Madeleine Hart Wheeler interrogation. She didn't doubt that he felt the same way.

"Go ahead and laugh." He didn't wince when she followed his advice. In fact, he joined in, loving the sound of her sparkling laughter. Blowing out a breath, he glanced up at the umbrella above them and shared, "I'm in the process of using the restaurant's website to help me answer her questions. I don't have a choice. I don't want to lie but…I also don't want my mother to know I never actually visited the restaurant."

Trying to gain control of her merriment was hard, especially once it had been released. For his sake, she managed it. She covered his hand with hers, well aware of the fact that he didn't like to lie. "Keep it simple. Maybe instead of answering all those questions, you should tell her that she needs to try the restaurant out for herself before she makes such a momentous decision," Trixie suggested, hoping she was giving him a gracious out.

He sat back in his seat, an incredulous expression on his face. Her suggestion had never occurred to him. It was the perfect solution. "You know, that's a fabulous idea." Shaking his head at his own obtuseness, Jim wondered why he hadn't thought of the idea himself. It was so simple and right. And he wouldn't have to lie. He held up two fingers. "Give me a minute here, Trix," he mumbled, already composing the reply in his mind.

Undoing the top of her bottle, she grinned as he placed the laptop back in his lap and began typing in the response. His competent fingers fairly flew over the keyboard, making the keys click and clack in an impressive dance. Craning her neck way to the side, she was able to read the response and inwardly applauded the way he suggested it. He'd done it all without ever admitting he'd never actually stepped a foot inside the restaurant. "Good for you."

Pleased that the task he'd been dreading was officially over, at least in his mind, Jim hit send and leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out and feeling a lot lighter. "Thank God that's over," he muttered, delighted that he wouldn't have to deal with the issue anymore. Or, more accurately, a tenacious mother wanting to know why, exactly, he hadn't completed the one thing he'd been requested to do while in Las Vegas.

She smiled again. It seemed she couldn't stop doing it today. Comfortable with the afternoon, happy to relax out on the deck, she followed his example and leaned back against the cushions of her chair. Twirling her sunglasses by one edge of its side, she inquired curiously, "Have you received any other emails?"

"A few from work," he answered. He hadn't opened a single one. He didn't plan on it. They could wait until he was actually back at work. There was also one from his contractor, updating him on the progress at Ten Acres. But he didn't share that with her, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the thought of the house that was beginning to take shape in Sleepyside. He didn't want to talk about his home. Not wanting to pop the bubble of contentment they were in, he zeroed in on the last email and added, "And…"

"And?" she prompted encouragingly when he stopped.

"And I got a recent one from Honey," he shared, unsure if he should be laughing or weeping. When riled, Honey was just as tenacious as her mother. Pulling his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose, he glanced over the top of his shades at her. "A very recent one. Actually, she just sent it a few minutes ago."

"I see." Suddenly very quiet, Trixie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Honey, she had reason to know, could be very dogged and persistent when going after a bone, especially when it involved people she loved and cared about. And she was more than curious about why her brother and her best friend had been together in Las Vegas. Blushing in spite of her best efforts to prevent it, she questioned haltingly, not certain if she wanted to know the answer or not, "Do I want to know what it says?"

"It's not too bad." Jim called it up and flipped the laptop over so that she could read it. "Dan must've run some serious interference for us, even more than we realized. See? She even says it right here." He jabbed a finger at the line.

Narrowing her eyes, Trixie leaned forward, intent on studying the email and having no clue she was giving Jim a perfect shot down the front of her shirt. "_I'm very thankful to Dan. At least he's responded to me and not blown me off_," Trixie read Honey's words aloud, a small frown furrowing her forehead. _"He called me a few minutes ago, to let me know he was back in the city. He also wanted to apologize for his abrupt texts. Then he shared a little about Las Vegas with me. Just a little, mind you. I expect all holes to be filled in."_

When she went quiet, obviously feeling guilty because she hadn't called, texted or emailed her best friend since Jim had unwittingly intercepted the phone call, Jim pointed out the last passage of the email. "Honey vows she's going to be patient until she sees one of us in person. See? Then she promises to give it to that lucky individual with both barrels."

Trixie quickly skimmed the remaining lines of the email and grimaced. "Good luck with that. Chances are great that she'll see you before she sees me."

"I know," he responded quietly, vowing himself not to let the physical distance residing between them to become a problem. For once, he was going to live in the here and the now, to grab all the happiness that he could, and not worry about the after until, well, after. He deserved it. Staring at the beautiful woman at his side, he knew that she did, too.

Then she surprised him. Trixie started chuckling. With an impish quality to her voice, she offered playfully, "Wanna stay here indefinitely?"

It was just what he needed to chase away that tricky and quick little strain of melancholy. His answering smile was as swift as the laughter pouring out from her. With a light tap on her knee, he replied huskily, "Sounds like a plan."

The sudden warmth on her cheeks had nothing to do with the heat of the California afternoon. Squishing the urge to clear her throat, she gestured towards the gorgeous view. The sun touched the sand, making it glimmer like millions of tiny little diamonds. There was an unending line of waves gently crashing against the earth, with the brightest blue sky imaginable hanging above them, serving as a gorgeous frame to a natural masterpiece. "Have you been down to the water yet?"

"Nah." He shook his head. Flipping his laptop closed, he left it on the table, safely under the shade of the umbrella, and threaded fingers through hers. He waited until she was standing to add, "I was waiting for you."

"Come on. Let's go." A gentle breeze chose that moment to blow by. It picked up a semi-damp curl, lifting it into the air. She grabbed it back, tucked it behind her ear, and skirted around the table, Jim a step behind her. Her bare feet padded along the deck and down the steps, right into the sand that carried the warmth of the sun. "Ouch!" she mumbled, hopping from foot to foot to fend off the slight burn. Bending down, she pulled out an extremely old, beat-up pair of flip-flops she kept tucked underneath the planks of the deck, just for such an emergency.

Jim waited until she slipped into the shoes. Then he captured her hand again, tugged her forward and started walking towards the beach, the most relaxed he'd been in the longest of times. It felt so damn right, like a part of his soul wasn't just being repaired with the simple act. Like it was being healed, completely and totally, without a scar left in sight. Thankful for the sunglasses keeping the truth and the depth of his thoughts away from her, he strove to keep the conversation light. "You're right. This is one hell of a view you've got here."

Still finding it hard to fathom that he was really here, she shot a glance behind them, made a quick study of their footsteps together in the sand. They looked so perfect, hers only a miniscule amount of wind-scattered sand away from his. As if they belonged together, just like that. "Thanks," she mumbled, not wanting to let him see what she was thinking. "I don't get much of a chance to enjoy it, though."

"Because you're usually working," Jim finished for her. He stopped, turned to face her. "You work. A lot."

Understatement of the year. With a proud tilt to her chin, she nodded. "Yes. I do."

He wondered if she realized how parallel their lives really were. Separate and parallel. Work, work and more work. For both of them. It helped fill the void, helped them ignore the pain, from their failed relationship. He'd hidden behind it for a long time. Seven years to be exact. It was beyond astonishing to realize she'd done the exact same thing. "I understand," he murmured, tucking back that same errant curl that simply didn't want to stay put. It never did. "Believe me, I do."

Her eyebrows shot up above the frame of her sunglasses. She couldn't see his eyes, not through his tinted shades. She didn't need to. She heard the simple honesty in his statement, the way he admitted it to her. He truly understood. Because he'd done the exact same thing. A little smile tilted the ends of her lips. Not wanting to get into something so heavy out here on the beach, especially on such a lovely summer day, she took the initiative and threaded her fingers back through his. An answering squeeze served as her answer.

They picked their way along the beach, strolling easily to the edge of sand right where the water engaged in an ongoing battle with the earth. Some days the battle was a rough and tumble one. Not today. It was gentle and easy. Trixie impatiently toed back out of her flip-flops and kicked them behind her where they landed in a haphazard pile. She quickly urged Jim to do the same, and, with a lighthearted giggle pouring forth from her, put both feet in. The cooler water tickled her skin. "The water feels terrific, Jim," she called back over her shoulder.

Much more careful, much more deliberate than her de-shoeing, he tucked his socks into his shoes and left them in a tidy line, their toes facing out. He chuckled at the sight, his so neat, hers so careless, an obvious sign of their differing personalities. "It's been a long time since I've been at the beach."

"You don't take vacations," she stated evenly. The water rippled more around them as she turned so she could see him and not the horizon. The sun was at her back, the light wind was in her face.

He held his hands up, admitting defeat. "True," he replied without candor, stepping into the water. "It's the reason why my mother and Honey teamed up to push me out of New York and into Las Vegas."

"I'm glad they did." A few walking steps backward had Trixie going further into the water. She only stopped when it reached her calves. "It feels great here. So peaceful and wonderful."

A reminder of another moment came over him, one that they had spent together not so long ago. It had been peaceful and wonderful, too, catching both of them off guard. He glanced at her, saw the way the sun shadowed over her face, and joined her deeper in the ocean. He ignored the shouts of merriment coming from a horde of other beachgoers only a short distance away. "The last time I took some personal leave was for Honey's wedding."

"Yeah," she mumbled, finally looking out and seeing so much more than the pretty sailboats and zippy jet skis dotting the ocean. She slowly confessed the truth to him, of her feelings before the week started, when she was so hesitant about spending so much time with him, "I wasn't looking forward to Honey's wedding. I was dreading it, to tell you the truth. I knew we were going to be seeing an awful lot of each other, first because we are Bob-Whites and then because we were the best man and maid of honor." Because she felt an odd catch start to form in her throat, she stopped talking and swiftly composed herself. "But, you know, I ended up being very surprised. It turned out to be a pretty good week."

"Not a pretty good week. A great week," he corrected insistently, smoothing a hand over her back. And it _**had **_been a great one. They'd started it off with a shaky truce that had turned into more, much more than he'd ever anticipated. The past days in Vegas were a strong testament to that. They would never have been able to work together, live together, and learn so much about each other without its foundation. He leaned down, whispered hotly into her ear, "Although I think this past week was even better."

A smile glorious in its beauty wreathed her face, bringing out the depths of her dimples. She applied the full force of it on him. "You couldn't be more right."

Her smile. Such a simple thing, really. It made his breath stop, his heart ache, and forced a ball of need so thick and hot to crawl right up into his throat. He coughed to clear it away. "Anyway. Umm…yeah…we were talking about Honey's wedding. Do you remember riding together? Just you and me?"

How could she forget? She gave a quick nod of her head, making her curls bounce. She remembered everything about Jim, whether it was the good, the bad or the just plain ugly. She took an unconscious step forward, right towards him. "It was right after our trip to White Plains, right after I ran into Max and found out I was going to be taking over for Jocelyn."

"Exactly." He could recall the moment clearly, the way they'd stood on the bluffs, overlooking the Hudson River, on a pretty April day, all alone with only the horses for witnesses. During that time, they'd shared one of the most truthful and insightful conversations together. It had been much better than the stilted and overly polite conversations that had been their mainstay for years. "We talked about your promotion within the agency and the possibility of me taking over the company from my father."

And they'd both said they were content where they were in their lives. Not happy but content enough. Trixie suddenly went still, didn't move a muscle even as a larger wave rolled over her legs, spraying her shorts and shirt with its cool water. "I remember," she said cautiously, very aware of him by her side.

"And we stood next to each other. Kinda like we are right now." He moved in closer, put one hand lightly on her hip, in a carbon copy pose of that day. "We were so comfortable with each other that it took me awhile to figure out how close we were." He didn't need to ask if she remembered it. He knew she did. "Did it come as a surprise to you, too?"

His warm breath tickled her neck. She brought her head around, feeling that same ball of need that had recently plagued him take up residence deep within the pit of her stomach. Her heart started hammering. Her voice was low, thick and unbelievably hoarse as she whispered, "Yes."

"It was a good day, a good moment, for us," Jim continued, appreciating not the beauty of the beach surrounding them but the intoxicating woman at his side.

"First time we really talked about important stuff in just about forever," she murmured, staring up at him and unaware of how young and hopeful she suddenly appeared.

"We weren't ready then for this, even though I wanted it. But…" He tightened his hand on her hip, wrapped the other one around her waist, and pulled her forward, until their bodies bumped. He moved his hands down past her hips, down lower still until he could tug her as close as he could possibly get her. She was left without a single doubt about what he wanted. "We're more than ready for it now."

"Gleeps. Yes. Yes, we are." Through eyes of bottomless blue, she watched his mouth as it descended towards hers. Standing on tiptoe, eager to meet, wanting to participate as wholly as possible, she ignored the waves of water that continued to roll past and crash at their feet and met his mouth. Oblivious to all but each other, she pressed her body firmly against his. Tight, taut and straining. With nothing but their clothes to separate them and their minds once again in a perfect tandem, resting along the same passionate wavelength.

What had to be a millennium later, Jim reluctantly lifted his head. Breathing hard, he smoothed a hand over her wayward curls, tucked her head under his neck. He stared at the water, needing a serious distraction from the woman at his side before he did something crazy and insane and caused what could only be called a public disturbance. "God, I wished I'd kissed you like that then."

"It wasn't the time," she mumbled, her lips already busy, pressing a series of small kisses against the thudding pulse at his neck. "It wouldn't have meant as much as it does now. Although…"

"Although what?" Intrigued, he stared down at her.

Wanting to see him without the benefit of tinted shades, she slipped her sunglasses off. Laughing blue eyes peeped up at him. "I kinda wished you'd kissed me like that, then, too."

Since he couldn't help it, and there was no reason not to, he ducked back down for another quick sampling. He found it as sweetly fascinating as always. Glancing back at her house, knowing he was getting dangerously close to the point where he was going to lose control, he suggested huskily, "Let's head back. Maybe we can rustle up some dinner in that kitchen of yours."

She shook her head. Resting her head on his chest, loving the feel of his hand gently stroking her hair, she shared with a roll of her eyes, "I highly doubt it. I mean, have you seen my kitchen yet? We'd have better luck ordering out."

"I noticed you were a little light on supplies," he teased, holding his thumb and finger together with just the tiniest amount of space residing between them.

He felt her quick grin through the fabric of his shirt. Her voice came out muffled. "I never have too much."

"That's what I figured." With his arm draped around her shoulder, they walked back to the beach, carelessly slow, in perfect sync, and ignorant of the sand clinging to their wet feet. When they reached their shoes, he decided to carry his and followed her up the sandy path to her deck. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Pizza. There's this great shop just down the road." She intentionally pitched her voice lower as she added, "And they deliver."

"Perfect." He picked up his laptop from the table, carried it inside and set it down on a chair where he promptly forgot all about its existence. "Let's eat outside. It's too beautiful out there."

"Oh, yeah. It's much better than the never-ending pink inside." Trixie scowled at the color of her walls and then lifted a resigned shoulder. There wasn't much she could do. The color scheme spoke for itself. She couldn't defend it. Better yet, she didn't want to. She didn't need to, not in front of Jim. "And you've been very nice not to comment on it, by the way. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Leaning against a wall, he crossed one ankle over the other. Interested green eyes watched her rifling through a drawer, obviously in search of a menu, and shrugged his own shoulder in response. "You warned me ahead of time. No worries, Trix. I won't hold the information hostage or anything like that. You know, for future blackmail purposes or something. After all, my name's not Daniel Mangan."

He startled another giggle out of her. Glancing up, she shared, "I could so see Dan doing something like that. Really, I could." Shaking her head, she closed the drawer with a hip and handed the menu over to him. "Well, let's order out. I'm feeling very hungry all of a sudden."

"You mean that granola bar didn't fill you up?" he inquired sarcastically.

She lifted her eyebrows and crinkled her nose at him. "Just tell me what you want and I'll place the order." She walked over to the table, picked up her cell and quickly perused its contents. It pleased her to see that she didn't have any incoming texts or miscalls at all. The quieter the phone, the better for her. She palmed it, inwardly wishing that her phone stayed silent for a long time to come. For once, she didn't want to work. She only wanted Jim. "Have you made up your mind?"

He hadn't even looked at the menu. He didn't need to. "The norm."

"All right. One half pepperoni, one half meatball coming right up." She gave him a cheeky bow before stepping back out onto the deck. "Consider it placed."

Pushing himself away from the wall, he walked over to the window, following her with his eyes as she walked back out to the deck to call the pizza place. Her voice, bright and cheerful, floated back to him with the aid of the wind. Pushing aside the vividly white curtain edged in various shades of pink from the window, he looked out, allowing himself the simple pleasure of watching her. The memory of their most recent kiss was fresh in his mind. "We're going to have an unforgettable night," he murmured, a quiet promise not just to her but also to him. "Just wait and see."


	42. Chapter 42

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Forty-Two

She barely heard the quiet click of the door as Jim went inside. With a small smile playing across her lips, Trixie lifted her head to the sky. The last pinkish rays of the sun fell over her face as it came ever closer to ending its descent for the lovely summer day. A light breeze carrying the sweet scent of the sea blew by, tugging and teasing at her loose curls. She chose to ignore it, more than content to stay exactly where she was, standing in the coming of twilight, with her hands curling around the railing. Her grin deepened, giving life to her dimples. Dinner had been wonderful. Simple but wonderful. Pizza and sweet iced tea, out on the deck, under the shade of the table umbrella, with the most wonderful man keeping her company. And now here she was, enjoying the lovely summer evening, while her soulmate was in the house, answering a text from his father.

_Soulmate_. The instant the thought popped into her mind, a small gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes immediately popped open; a dark, fixated sapphire. And the dimples winked out. Staring straight ahead, the simple term turned around in her mind, over and over again, in perfect tandem with the rolling waves of the sea, while her busy brain began analyzing it from all different directions. Romantic. Destiny. A union. Not just any union. Life-long and more; one that reached well past the earthly and into the other-worldly. Strong and unbreakable. It couldn't be denied, broken or shattered, no matter how devastating the attempt or the stupidity of either of the participants. Her mouth bowed into a tiny little O while the aura of contentment she'd been experiencing dissipated into the evening air, as easily as the heat of the day had recently drifted away from the smoothness of the silky sand of the beach.

She ignored the pounding of her heart as it steadily increased and tightened her grip on the railing until her knuckles turned white. One thing, and one thing only, was she sure of now. God, they had been so very, very stupid. And so very, very young. Tightly she squeezed her eyes shut, willed her mind to stop thinking, knowing, just knowing that they were not ready to tackle such a complicated topic. But it still had the power to hurt; the memories, the realization, the fact that they had each taken such a precious gift and tossed it aside. Now the only question remained was what she was going to do with her uncovered knowledge.

She didn't know how much time passed as she stared out, unseeingly, at the stunning sunset. A cheerful whistle interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back into reality with a swiftness she wasn't quite prepared for. Grateful for the gentle encroaching of the dark, Trixie spun around on her bare feet to stare at the object of her thoughts, her only hope that all of her thoughts weren't painted plainly across her face. Gulping in a much-needed breath of air, she found the energy to breathe out his name as his footsteps echoed off the stained wood of the deck. "Jim."

Unaware of the affects of her epiphany, and unable to get a good look at her face with the deepening of the shadows, Jim tossed her his famous lopsided grin and sauntered his way across the deck, his thumbs tucked negligently into the loopholes of jeans. In no time at all he joined her at the railing. A few years ago he would have avoided her completely. A few months ago he would have been uncertain of his acceptance. Even a week ago there would have been a slight hesitation to touch her. There wasn't a sign of any of that now as he ran a thumb along her cheekbone and glanced down into her face, one edge of his lip curving up. "All taken care of, Trix."

She watched him more carefully than he realized. She didn't miss a single thing, not the way his thigh accidently bumped hers, not the way one hand of his hung loosely over the railing, or how the other rested gently at the small of her back. And his smile. It widened when he looked at her. There wasn't any way she could miss it. Not when everything she wanted, not when everything that mattered, was only a mere touch away. "All right," she managed to stutter out, wishing that she had the ability to turn her all her thoughts into words of poetry.

After giving her a cheerful little wink, Jim dropped his hand from her and turned to face the ocean. "You were so right, you know. This view is stunning." He paused a moment before giving her a playful shove. "It certainly makes up for the inside of your house."

The little joke was exactly what she needed to combat her heavier thoughts, to put her in a place where she desperately needed to be. Releasing a choked little giggle, she pushed him back and turned around to look at the exact same scene. Dangling her hands, she declared with a cheeky little grin, "Hey. What can I say? The secret's finally out. I've always secretly loved the color pink."

Appreciating her reply, he couldn't help it and roared with laughter. Dropping a comfortable arm over her shoulders, he pulled her closer and tucked her against his chest. After pressing a kiss on the top of her head, he shared the one thought that had been circulating through his mind since he'd boarded the helicopter, "I'm glad I came to San Diego."

"I am, too." She rested her head against his chest and watched as the weakening light of the sun reflected off the gently moving water, grateful for what he was admitting. Her voice went low and husky. "So very, very glad."

Her quietly offered agreement, as well as the tight little hug she paired it with, gave him the largest feeling of happiness that he could remember experiencing in…well, in the longest of times. In fact, he actually couldn't remember when he'd felt so happy, so free, so much like he'd used to feel. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the entire reason was her. It was just the two of them, alone, right as the day gave way to the night. He didn't offer any other words, merely rubbed his chin against the silky smoothness of her curls, and enjoyed the sweetly intoxicating scent of her shampoo.

"What did your father say? How long can you stay?" she murmured, a finger idly playing with a button on his shirt.

Jim lifted a shoulder. "I can take as much time as I want," he replied cheerfully, which almost disguised his guilt over the little white lie he'd offered up to his father. "My dad didn't have any objections to me extending my vacation. I have a lot of vacation time built up."

"Surprise, surprise," she mumbled sarcastically, giving her head a tiny shake.

He nodded in response before taking a deep breath. "He did want to know why." Jim chuckled wryly. Before she could ask the next question, he held up his hand, stopping her flow of questions. "I didn't go into any specifics, Trix. I simply told him the opportunity came up to visit another state and I wanted to take it."

"That answer wouldn't satisfy the Matthew Wheeler I know," she muttered under her breath, staring at him through narrowed eyes.

"And it won't," Jim answered with remarkable good cheer. "But I don't need to worry about it. At least, not for a while." He pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket, held it aloft and announced. "After I sent him my last text, I turned my phone off. Then I took the battery out. I don't plan on putting it back in for a while."

Trixie's mouth fell open. "Jim!" she exclaimed, taking the object from him and flipping it over. Sure enough, the battery was missing. She lifted her head back up to his, a look of stunned awe on her face. "My God. That's brilliant."

He gave another simple shrug of his shoulder, pleased with her praise. "It'll only help in the now," he explained, knowing that he'd have a boatload of questions to answer from his father, as well as his sister, and, of course, he couldn't forget his mother, once he returned to New York. But, as it was, he found himself unwilling to care about the upcoming aftermath. No, he was much more focused on the…during. A special spark lit his eyes. There was no way he was going to miss a moment, not a single second, of their time together. The less interruptions, the better.

"I wish I could do that," Trixie declared ruefully, offering the phone back.

"Turn your cell off?" Jim clarified as he placed his now-defunct phone in his pocket.

A curt nod was his answer. "We're not allowed to turn ours off. Ever," she added with a small sigh that said more than words ever could. "In fact, my cell is currently sitting on its charger in my bedroom. I really should have it with me right now."

The information sank in slowly. Knowing Trixie was constantly on call wasn't something he wanted to think about, especially since he would much rather spend their time together, well, together. He leaned in, brushed another light kiss over her forehead. "You just finished up a mission. What are the chances of you being called in anytime soon?"

The question brightened her up. Threading her arms over his neck, she returned his kiss with a quick one of her own. "We're practically guaranteed at least a few days off once a mission is completed. I've never, ever been called into action directly after one. Our Chief firmly believes in letting us have a little…" She paused to let out a throaty giggle before adding, "Break."

Jim stared down into the giggling face before him. Soon his chuckles mixed with hers. They hadn't spoken of it; certainly hadn't shared it, but he knew in that moment that she had every intention of picking up from where their Las Vegas adventure had ended. With a look of pure male delight, he glanced out unseeingly at the exact moment the sun dipped from view, leaving only a few startling beautiful rays left in its wake to prove it had ever been there.

After an endless moment where she simply savored the feel of being held in his arms, Trixie settled herself against the railing again. In a move she'd been doing since childhood, she tugged impatiently at her curls, tucking them behind her ears where they immediately sprang back out to defy her. "Well, since I have a small break from work and you have absolutely no connection to New York…" she added, punctuating her words with an accusatory finger and a wicked grin. "And, since we are both here, in San Diego, with some serious free time on our hands, I might add, we should probably start to plan out the rest of the evening. I could take you around, show you the sights. I know it's your first visit here. So…just tell me, Jim Frayne." She didn't mean the next words to sound seductive. She truly didn't. At least, that's what she told herself. "What would you like to do?"

He already had plans. Just thinking of them deepened the emerald of his eyes, made one edge of his lip curl up in a way that not only would one Daniel Mangan have admired, he would most likely would want to practice and copy. Somehow, Jim doubted if anything touristy she offered up would trump what was on his agenda for the evening. He stated evenly, "Well, we've already had dinner."

Trixie inclined her head to the side, nodded affirmatively. "Yes. That we've had."

He swept his arm out to the ocean. "And a show."

"A magnificent one, too," Trixie agreed immediately, with a glance over her shoulder. "You can't beat Mother Nature, especially when she's in a good mood."

"You're right there," Jim agreed affably, running an absent finger up and down her arm that sent tingles shooting through her.

"So, we've already covered dinner and a show," Trixie recapped, trying to ignore the tiny little goose-bumps his touch was eliciting.

"Hmm," was his answer. He leaned down, whispered near her ear, "Don't forget to add in some scintillating conversation, too."

"Scintillating? I don't know if I'd go that far," Trixie murmured, her eyebrows shooting up when he tickled her side. She giggled again before elbowing him away. "Okay, okay. I give in."

"Dinner. A show. And conversation." He joined her at the railing. Leaning back, he crossed one ankle over the other and began ticking off the simple requirements of a normal date off on his fingers.

Trixie held up her hand, preventing him from saying his next words, while her lips threatened to twitch. "If you say all we're missing is dessert…"

"Well. I was going to." Jim lifted an eyebrow when she started to inch away. He thought about reaching out for her but then figured it would be too easy. Instead, he watched her come to a halt about three feet from him.

Extremely aware of what his idea of dessert was since it was her idea as well, Trixie tried not to giggle. With one hand on her hip, she tsked at him, wagging her finger the entire time. "Come on now. Don't you think that's just a little clichéd, Mr. Frayne?"

"Eh. It's an oldie but a goody for a reason," he agreed with a deep chuckle. "Plus it is all we're missing. Dinner, conversation, a show and dessert. You can't argue with me there. Can you?"

Delighted with the foolishness, pleased to be able to indulge in something as easy and silly as a little joke, Trixie giggled again and took one more step backwards. When she bumped into the table, she reached out to steady herself and laughed even harder, so comfortable with him she wasn't even embarrassed by a return of what she'd always viewed as her unfortunate strain of adolescent clumsiness. "You've got me. I guess that's why you went to law school."

"I guess so." Since she'd unintentionally blocked her own path to the door, he decided it was time to pursue. Watching her closely, he moved forward. "And, you know, there's dessert and then there's…dessert," he whispered, the coming darkness hiding the slight flush staining his cheek. "You really do have some ice cream in your freezer. I know. I checked," he added when she stared at him, her recent laughter coming to an abrupt stop.

"You don't really want ice cream, though. Do you?" Trixie peered up at him through impossibly clear eyes, hoping for a negative response.

He tenderly traced the line of her cheek with the back of his fingers. "No," he replied honestly, hoarsely, staring intently into her eyes. "I don't want ice cream."

"Good. That's good." Breathing in, Trixie closed the miniscule amount of distance between them. "I don't want any, either."

Jim murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "Hallelujah!" before bending down. His lips claimed hers, with a softness and a gentleness that made her sigh all over. It was a lovely meeting, a gentle meeting, one of pure untainted passion, one with just the slight hint of something fierce and hot beginning to brew right below the surface. He brought the kiss to an end, wanting to gain control of the powerful desire she somehow so effortlessly stirred within him. After all they'd been through together, she damn well deserved everything he could give to her. Time was going to stand still. He was going to make sure of it.

A small moan of disappointment was ripped from her throat when he pulled back, something she could not have predicted, something she most definitely did not want. Confusion briefly flared in her eyes until she saw the passion revealed deeply within his, as well as the dark red flush spreading its way across his face. And then she recognized the electricity encircling around them. For once, it was all sparkling clear. "Inside," was her order, spoken in a breathy tone of voice.

Only one spoken word. When she paired it with an insistent tug of his hand, she broke through the thin rein he had remaining on his control. His feet rooted to the spot, halting her from dragging him across the rest of the deck. His movements were slow, deliberate. First he threaded his fingers through her generous bounty of loosely flowing curls. He pulled her to him, He pulled her to him, inch by inch, until she was flush up against his body. Then he kissed her. It was different from before. This time, it was long, hot and erotic; a kiss meant to dull their senses, to make them deaf, dumb and blind to anything happening around them, to make them forget anything that had ever transpired between them, the good and the bad, and to just focus on the here and the now. Now was all that mattered, all that was important. He moved his body against hers, pushing her against the side of the table. His hands couldn't be contained. They were wild, running over her body in an endless sweep, as if he couldn't get enough of her. And he couldn't. Not her taste, not her feel. She was in his blood, in his soul, and so deep in his heart she could never be torn out.

Amazed by the power of his passion, she willingly stayed the recipient. For a long, more than enjoyable moment. Then she twined her hands behind his neck, never taking her mouth from his as her tongue started dueling with him in an endless symphony composed of fiery heat. She moved even closer, pressing herself as close to him as she could so that not even the slightest amount of the warm evening air could reside between them, and simply reveled in the moment. Eventually the need for some air took over. With a sigh of regret, she tore her mouth away from his and murmured in a voice that was much too sultry-sounding to belong to her, "Hmm. Jim? We're still outside."

Dropping his forehead to hers, taking his own time to drink in a large swig of much-needed air, Jim let out a choked laugh. "Give me a moment," he whispered into her ear, breathing hard. "I'll get us there." Because he couldn't stop touching her, he let his hand rest on her hip. Twirling her around, making her giggle some more, he started leading them to the door but his good intentions were undone by the buoyant smile she tossed his way. Halfway there and he was kissing her again. A few steps farther and he nearly tripped over a foot. Hers or his, he didn't know or care. Luckily there was a chair to steady him before they crashed to the floor. When they finally reached the door, amazingly intact and vertical, his hands, normally so competent and in control, fumbled for the doorknob. With one hand wrapped around her and the other desperately attempting to turn the knob and meeting failure each time, he muttered a frustrated curse. It took a few attempts but he somehow managed to flick it open. Even more unbelievably, he had the presence of mind to pull it shut behind them.

"You did it. We're inside," she murmured, her chest rising and falling. She flicked the lock closed, wanting nothing to interrupt them.

He whirled her against the pretty glass of the French doors. With only the vibrant pink remaining from the sunset at her back, she couldn't look any lovelier. His breath came hard. But his words…Oh, God. They came easy. And honestly. "Gorgeous. Breathtaking. So damn beautiful."

She was having just as much trouble reclaiming her own breath. Denying it would be useless, especially when he was looking at her like that, with the most intense glint to his expressive eyes. Instead, she merely met his gaze with one of her own. When he closed the distance between him, her breathing hitched again while her heart rate sky-rocketed. The coolness of the glass at her back registered on some level but it was nothing compared to the sensation she felt the second his hands slid underneath her shirt to caress the soft skin of her lower back.

"Oh, Jim," she whispered, loving the small circular motions his hands were creating. Even though it was still covered from view, she felt him unerringly find the faded scar on her stomach and trace it with careful fingers. Such a simple action, such a small thing to do. So meaningful. A feeling of love for him exploded through her. She laid her head back against the door, unconsciously exposing her neck, and closed her eyes.

Jim couldn't resist the invitation. It was impossible. He was only human, after all. His lips immediately sought refuge, enjoying the taste and texture of her skin. His tongue dipped into the little hollow of her neck. Already nearly insane with desire, which was insane in itself since they had barely even begun, Jim pressed her hips tightly into his, bringing forth a satisfying moan from both of them.

(deleted a section)

"Bedroom. Now," she finally got out, wondering if they would actually make it in time. They hadn't, not that first time two nights ago in Vegas. Not that either of them had minded all that much, she thought with an inward grin of feline satisfaction. Really, she was coming to learn that nothing mattered, not as long as they were together. Her hand curled against his hip, her fingers clasping onto the loops of his jeans.

He lifted his head, looked down at the halo of blonde curls resting against his chest. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. To be honest, his was, too. "We'll try," was the best he could promise. He wasn't sure; couldn't be. Not when it took all his self-control not to take what she so obviously wanted to give right then and there.

In complete understanding, she nodded against him. Taking a moment to compose herself, she mumbled, her voice muffled by the material of his shirt, "It's the best we can do."

"Let's see if this will even the odds a bit in our favor." Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and, mesmerized by another kiss that created a path of complete perfection all the way his soul, he found his way through the living room, only bumping into a table once before he walked down the hall and into her bedroom. A slow, sexy smile spread across his face as he carefully put her down, deliberately taking his time so that he could feel her as she slid the whole way down his body until her bare toes once again touched the softness of the carpet. He couldn't lose touch of her, kept his hands resting lightly on her hips. "Do you think it worked?"

"Like a charm," was her sweetly offered answer. Together, they made it to the bed.

(deleted a section)

There were no words to say after such a rich experience. With her hands still caught within Jim's, Trixie gave them a small squeeze. When Jim lifted his head and gently touched his forehead to hers, her heart stopped pounding. It began to soar. The answer, as she'd discovered out on her deck, was there, right at her fingertips. It was him, all him, and she couldn't have been happier. With eyes alight with undeniable happiness, a soft sigh passed her lips. She breathed his name this time like it was the sweetest prayer. "Jim."

He smiled against her lips, lips still swollen from his earlier kisses. "Trixie."

"You're going to have to work very hard to top this one," she mumbled, closing her eyes and settling against the comfort of her pillow.

"What…" His eyebrows shot up. Momentarily confused, he realized she was bringing up her earlier comment, how she'd wondered how it kept getting better and better. "Well," he began, a delighted grin slowly working its way across his face, "Give me some time to recover and I'll be glad to see what I can do."

She laughed, a full-out, happy laugh, and tugged him closer to her. "Sleep. First," she murmured, sighing again when his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Cocooned in his arms, she quickly closed her eyes, feeling safe, secure and sheltered. The best she could ever remember feeling.

"Yeah. Sleep," he repeated, running a hand over the soft curls and listening as her breathing evened out. The quickness with which she fell asleep made him grin. Reaching down, his fingers snagged the edge of a blanket. He pulled it up to cover them. Grateful for the time together, he closed his own eyes and said into the dark, "Why not? We've got all the time in the world."

**Author's Note:**

I deleted a few parts of this chapter because I do not want an M rating for this story. I put in the chapter where the two deleted sections were. Please contact me if you'd like to read the unabridged chapter! I'll be glad to share my website address with you. Thanks!


	43. Chapter 43

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Three

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Fulfillment enveloped her like it had never before, offering her a warm, comfortable and inviting blanket. With a soft, incoherent murmur, she snuggled against the length of the slumbering body next to her and draped an arm around him. Could it get any better? She highly doubted it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mumbled a relaxed sigh and hugged him tighter to her. She found it hard to believe where they'd ended up; in her bed. Together. But she couldn't have asked for anything more. Well, maybe…she corrected herself with a tiny little giggle. Arching a speculative eyebrow, she contemplated his bare skin and leaned in to kiss a tantalizing spot right in the center of his back.

Then she heard it. A loud, irritating, and incessant beeping. First she pretended it was a mere figment of her imagination, that it truly didn't exist. Then she burrowed her head into the pillow when it wouldn't stop. Because the noise wouldn't shut up, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she reluctantly became one of the land of the living. Trixie released a low, disgruntled groan. She slowly disentangled herself from Jim, being careful not to wake him up. Grumbling a string of incoherent and colorful words under her breath, she reached for the cell phone joyfully beeping away on her nightstand. She risked a quick glance at her alarm clock. The numbers mocked her with their bright blue light. 5:12 in the morning. She wrinkled her nose and, swallowing back a deep sigh, turned her cell over.

The code that met her eyes absolutely killed her aura of contentment. She quickly covered her mouth to hide her shocked gasp. Holy hell. Holy freaking hell. She recognized the code. Of course, she recognized it. It was one she'd heard of before but she'd never actually _seen_ put into action before. She cursed. Vividly. Hurriedly, she pushed herself off the bed, totally unaware of her lack of dress, and swiftly opened an incoming text. _30 minutes _was all it read_._

Her frown turned darker while lights of displeasure swirled in her eyes. "Damn. Damn it all," she bit out, barely resisting the urge to throw the stupid cell against the wall. Instead, she fought hard to compose herself. Somehow, she won and focused on the important matter at hand. Her fingers fairly flew across her small keyboard. Her quick response wasn't the most polite text she'd ever sent. The recipient would understand, of that she had no doubt. He was experiencing the same emotions she was.

The swift reply back completely ignored her demanding question and didn't alleviate her fears in the least. If anything, it made her more distressed. _"29 mins now, Belden. Get ready."_

She bit off yet another impressive string of curse words. Knowing she couldn't refuse the call, knowing she had to leave, Trixie turned around, feeling as if the weight of the world was weighing heavy on her slim shoulders. Her concerned blue eyes immediately found Jim. She indulged herself in one long moment to look at him, to study him, to convert the picture he made into a memory. She even took a step towards the bed before she stopped herself. He looked so damn comfortable, so damn alluring, lying there, with only half the comforter covering him and one long leg exposed. The ends of his hair stuck out in different directions, a testament to her many warm embraces during their pleasurable night together. His arm was flung across her pillow, as if he was searching her out, even in his sleep. His breath was soft, deep and even. He clearly wasn't stirring anytime soon.

All for the best. _All for the best._ At least that's what she tried to convince herself. She inhaled a sharp breath. It would be better, much better, if she let him continue to sleep, if she left the house before he woke up. It wouldn't do to wake him, not for her equilibrium. Part of her knew she'd never leave if he woke and to hell with the CDA and her job. And her own honor.

Completely torn, and absolutely despising it, she spun around again and began rummaging through her drawers, working as quietly as she could to get prepared for the enormity of the job lying ahead of her. She grabbed the first things she touched; old gray sweatpants, a dark navy blue shirt, and a fresh pair of underwear. A clean set of socks was added to the bundle of clothes in her arm. Grateful for the softness of the carpet that muffled the sound of her feet, she padded out of the bedroom to the bathroom down the hall. A shower was the first order of business.

A short seven minutes later she was dressed, showered, and back in her bedroom. She intentionally bypassed the bed. This time she searched through the carry-on from the Vegas trip she had yet to unpack. Fingers fumbled until she felt the brim of the old, beat-up Yankees hat, the one Mart had given her so long ago, on the very day she'd left Sleepyside. Holding it one hand, she stared down at Jim, a look of naked longing on her face. Because she wasn't strong enough to resist, not any longer, she walked over and ran a gentle hand along his head. He didn't stir. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm so sorry," she murmured and then, because she had to, she left, her strides becoming more purposeful with each step she took.

A short consult with her cell showed her that she had exactly fourteen minutes left before her ride showed up. As she had good reason to know, he was nothing if not punctual. She needed to use her time wisely so she didn't waste a precious second. She grabbed a notebook and a pen and plopped down on the nearest seat. A few seconds were forever lost to her while she pondered the blank page, wondering what the hell she was going to say, wondering what she could say. Wondering if he would understand. With each cheerful tick of the clock working against her, she had no choice but to start, the words eventually coming and her handwriting the most illegible it had ever been in her hurry to get them down. Would it be enough? Oh damn. Why the hell did it have to be so hard? Biting her lip, she contemplated her finished message, ignoring the almost painful prick of tears to her eyes, and felt a sigh tear its way through her heart.

A light knock at the front door interrupted her final perusal. She swiped at the moisture, not wanting him to see how deeply the code was affecting her. Or, more accurately, how deeply she wished she didn't have to go. With a rumbling growl, she pushed herself up and dropped the notebook on the table with a loud _plop_. "I'm coming. I'm coming," she griped, practically stomping her way to the door. She threw it open, an unpleasant expression on her face, deciding it would be better to appear pissed off instead of merely heartbroken.

She looked the exact way he felt. Only he was much better at hiding it. Max didn't sigh. He had to be strong. So did she. The situation, as dire as it was, warranted it. "Don't we look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning," he declared after taking a prolonged study of the glaring woman before him.

"Shut. Up," was her impolite reply, delivered in a tone of voice he'd never heard her employ before. At least, not towards him. She didn't invite him in, merely whirled away and clomped her way back into the living room. She didn't even look back at him when she demanded, "What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you retired?"

"Apparently not." Taking no offense at her blatant rudeness, he closed the door behind him. They'd been given a full hour before reporting to the agency. For her sake, he'd cut the time in half. She wasn't going to take the call into work easily. Swallowing down the sympathy that wanted to well up within him, for him and for her, for Jocelyn and for Jim, he pulled out his cell and shoved the object under her nose so she could see the numbers on the screen. "It's the code, Belden. I got it, too," he answered simply.

"Resistance is futile, huh?" She didn't wait for an answer. Before she forgot, she hurried into her kitchen and came back a minute later with two sets of keys dangling from her hand. With fingers wanting to tremble, she placed them next to the notebook. At least Jim would have access to her house and her car while she was gone, she thought with an inward groan of dismay. Thinking of her house, she leaned down and added the security code for her alarm system. He'd need it, too.

"Highest level of urgency. Yeah, you're right. Resistance really is futile." Then he muttered out the simple truth, the only sign that he wasn't as committed as he should have been, "I wanted to, though."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Her sharp eyes went to the hallway. She grabbed her hat and slapped it on her damp curls. Needing some kind of a distraction, she stated evenly, "You must be in the running for having the shortest retirement in history. My God, Max. You didn't even last a full day."

"I couldn't ignore it." And he couldn't, not when that particular code had been transmitted to him. Because he understood how she was feeling, he stepped forward and pulled her into a sympathetic hug. The tension running through her lithe body shocked him. He ran a soothing hand down her back, hoping to put some of her at ease, and mumbled, "Joss is seriously pissed off right now. At me, at the Chief, at the agency. She was ready to howl when I left. After she kissed me, of course," he tacked on with a pleased male grin.

"But she understands," Trixie answered quietly, leaning in just a little to take a bit of comfort from her friend. As a former agent, Jocelyn wouldn't expect her husband to ignore the code. He wasn't just duty-bound. He was honor-bound to answer it, exactly as she was. He wouldn't hesitate. Well, she amended to herself, maybe he hesitated for a second but he'd answer it, just like she was answering it. Grumpily, maybe. Ungraciously, for sure. But they were responding. Even if it was the last thing either of them wanted to do.

Max sucked in a breath. He looked deep within her turbulent eyes before he brought up the obvious subject of her distress. "Frayne'll understand, too."

"Maybe," was her answer, a slight blush staining her cheeks. God, she hadn't realized she was that transparent.

"He will. Don't sell him short, Belden. He spent a week with us in Vegas. He gets it. Or as much of it as a civilian can get it. He will understand. Trust me on this." Max glanced down at the notebook and scanned the ugly scrawl that passed for her version of penmanship. _Good thing we have computers at work_, he thought with upraised eyebrows. Her handwriting really was atrocious.

It didn't appease her. Probably because she felt so damn guilty about leaving in the first place. It ate at her, despite her best attempts to leave it alone and concentrate on the upcoming mission. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her sweats and, since the clock didn't want to stop ticking, she motioned towards the door. "At least we'll be in it together. Just like old times."

"Always a plus." Max grabbed her elbow before she could move. "Trixie. Wait."

Frowning, she almost shook off his grip. Something told her he'd just stop her some other way so she stood stock-still, although her tone said it all, "Don't we have to get going?"

"I may have…ah…fudged the reporting time just a little," he admitted with a tiny smirk. Because she hadn't moved, he felt free to drop his hand.

"Oh?" Trixie drew herself as tall as she could.

"We have a little leeway." He held his finger and his thumb together. "Not much, mind you, but enough."

She waited a beat before posing the obvious question. She wasn't certain she'd like his answer. "For what?"

"Take a deep breath, Belden," he advised her seriously. He'd already given himself the same pep talk during the short ride over to her place. He had it together…mostly, he admitted with an inward sigh. "Take a moment to compose yourself, to get your emotions under control. We can't show up at the agency with you looking like this."

She bristled. She hated it when others could read her so easily. But there was no use hiding it from him, no matter how much she wanted to. He'd known her too long. As had the others. "I don't want to go," she admitted finally, her words as petulant as her tone.

"I know." He nodded his head once.

She didn't look at him, kept her eyes firmly trained on the floor, and began toeing the carpet at their feet. It took a full minute before she shared in a much quieter voice, "I really don't want to leave this time."

"I know," he replied again, sympathetic to her plight. One side of his mouth curved up. "Believe me, I know."

She lifted her head. For the first time she noticed the same conflicting emotions reflected on his face. It was like looking in a mirror. Because he understood, the words finally burst out of her. "It just freaking sucks. I mean, _come on_!" She dragged the hat off her head, ran an agitated through her tousle of damp curls. "This can't be happening. It shouldn't be happening. We just got back. Jim's here with me. And I want to stay, damn it. I don't want to report in. I don't. I want…"

"Frayne," he supplied for her when she stopped speaking. He leaned down, pulled her in for another brotherly hug she actually returned this time. The garbled sound she made deep within her chest was a sob, one of mourning, one of sadness, before she swallowed it whole. It caught him off guard. She truly really didn't want to go. He hugged her tighter, smoothed a hand over her back, and suggested lowly, "Do you want to wake him up? I can make myself scarce. There's still some time left. I lied, remember?"

She swiped an indignant hand at a tear that dropped from her eyes and gave a vigorous shake of her head. Even her curls seemed to have lost their normal bounce. "It would only make it harder," she replied truthfully. God, would it ever.

"Yeah. I know." He'd left his own weepy wife, who'd pinned on the brightest smile she could conjure up for his departure. The kiss she'd given him at the door hadn't been too shabby, either. He held on, in perfect understanding, thinking that it sucked when the personal side of their lives conflicted with the professional. It was obviously the reason why the agency tended to recruit people who did not have ties to anyone else. It made performing their job that much easier.

A minute. That was all she needed. When it was over, Trixie pulled back, her eyes a little red, her nose a little runny. She found a tissue, dabbed at the offending areas, and sucked in a breath that was supposed to be fortifying. It failed miserably. "Okay. Okay," she mumbled, more to herself than to him. "I think I'm ready now."

_No, you're not, Agent Belden_, Max thought to himself. Not yet. But she was close. She'd be her normal CDA self once they reached the agency. She had to. She didn't have a choice. The Chief could spot weakness a mile away. There was too much pride in her to let something like that happen. He opened the front door, motioned for her to go out before him. She did with only a small hesitation. "Before you ask, I don't have the slightest notion why we've been called back in or why the most urgent code of all has been utilized."

"Care to speculate?" Trixie fought the urge to flinch when the door closed behind them with a nearly soundless click and they were left standing outside in the coming light of the morning. The sunrise, she noted with a tiny scowl of annoyance, was simply as gorgeous as the previous evening's sunset had been. It was just her dumb luck that she was standing in it with the wrong man. In that instant, there wasn't anything she wouldn't give to be back in her house, safely ensconced in her bed, with her Jim right by her side.

She'd better get better at covering up her emotions. Her heart wasn't in it; at least, not yet. Although he understood, Max needed to snap her out of it. It wouldn't do, not when they were facing a serious and dangerous unknown. "Belden," he called out sharply.

She snapped to attention, a line of annoyance developing along her forehead. "Donovan," she shot back, clearly irritated.

He kept it simple. She didn't need a dissertation. "Get it together." To add further insult to injury, he left her on the front step and walked towards his vehicle.

She stood on her front step and rolled her eyes to the sky. Damn it. He was right. She needed to get it together. For the first time she could remember, she left her house without the slightest hint of excitement about the upcoming mission. She couldn't even dredge up the tiniest amount of interest in wondering why their Chief had utilized the most severe code possible. She couldn't care; not when the one person she held most dear didn't even know she was leaving. Walking on auto-pilot to the car, she opened the passenger door and turned back to the house. She indulged in one last look, allowing herself to remember the beauty of their night together, and then she folded herself inside the vehicle.

To his credit, Max didn't say another word on the subject as he backed up and sped away down the road. The traffic was light; a bonus in their favor. He didn't want to be late for what promised to be one hell of a briefing. After coming to a stop at a red light, he shot her a look out of the corner of his eyes. She was getting there, he noticed with approval. She was getting there. "By the way, it's nice to be working with you again."

Her surprised choke of laughter didn't carry much mirth to it. But at least it was a laugh. Her unpainted lips curled. "Max. It's good to have you back, too. I wouldn't want to be facing this with anyone else but you."

"Right back at'cha." He winked and punched the accelerator when the light changed. The scenery was just a blur as he drove through the quiet streets. In no time at all, they were at their agency. A few cars already dotted the parking lot. He pulled into his normal spot.

"Any idea when we'll be back?" Wishing for a cup of coffee, Trixie stepped out onto the blacktop.

"Right after she kissed the hell out of me, Joss promised me that she'll skin me alive if we're not back before the baby is born." His laugh should have been humorous. However, there was a hollow feel to it. Hell, he didn't want to miss the birth of their baby.

Trixie's eyes went huge. "Max!" she exclaimed in disbelief, doing the mental math in her mind. "That's four months away."

He slammed his car door hard, the only outlet he allowed for his own frustrations. When he faced her, he was mostly the stoic special agent he needed to be. "This isn't going to be some little wham-bam-thank you-ma'am mission, Belden. Whatever it is, and I don't have a freaking clue what it could be, it's big."

"With a capital B," she stated under breath. She'd already suspected as much. Disheartened, she trailed behind him, entering the building through the back entrance and trying not to remember that nearly twenty-four hours earlier she'd been leaving the place, with Jim at her side and without a care in the world. What a difference a day could make.

At this time of day, the halls were eerily quiet and poorly lit. She pulled the brim of her hat down, not wanting anyone to get a good look at her face. They by-passed her office, ignored the one that until yesterday had held Max's personal belongings, and walked straight down to the end of the hall.

From the large window in her office, Heidi stopped from her contemplation of the ocean and forced a small smile to her face. It didn't come close to reaching her eyes. She didn't offer her normal cheerful greeting. Instead, she pointed to the opened box on her desk. "I need everything, you two. Right now. You can't take anything of personal value with you."

Neither of them were surprised. It was standard procedure, after all. It simply wasn't smart to bring anything of importance with them. Certainly nothing that could identify them, in any way, shape or form. Trixie watched Max take off his watch and then his wedding ring. She noted for the first time how he hesitated before removing his ring. But he did it. The items were placed in the thick lockbox. His wallet and car keys followed next. When Heidi glanced at her expectantly, she handed over her keys and stepped back. She hadn't brought her purse or any other identification with her.

"Trixie," Heidi murmured, pointing at her friend's left hand. "You're not done yet. I need your ring, too."

Her mouth bowed open. She'd completely forgotten that she'd been wearing the wedding ring since her 'marriage' in Vegas. Blushing furiously, Trixie slipped it off. She looked at the small gold circle before carefully placing it in the box. Her finger, she was surprised to note, felt naked without the ring. She rubbed it unconsciously and kept her head down, not wanting the others to see her face.

"Max. Trixie." Steeling herself, Heidi took a deep breath. She waited until both of them were looking at her again. "I need your cells, too."

Max straightened his shoulders. Never, in all of his years as an agent, had he ever had to turn in his cell before a mission started. First the most serious of codes. And now this. A suspicious glint darkened his eyes. "What the hell is this all about?"

"You're officially on black-out," Heidi informed them as business-like as possible. She didn't like being the bearer of such news, proof that the upcoming mission was along the lines of something they'd never experienced before. It was also the only piece of information the Chief had revealed to her. "All of you. Once you leave the agency, there won't be any way that we can get in touch with you. Or you with us." Her words were quietly offered and drenched in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."

Trixie inhaled sharply. She'd never been on a black-out mission before. In fact, she didn't know a single agent who'd ever participated in one before, either. It was extremely rare….which meant that they were involved in something extremely serious. "Okay," she breathed out slowly after sharing a long, telling look with Max. She slipped her cell out of her pocket and glanced down at it. It didn't look like she was going to be getting in touch with Jim anytime soon. It joined Max's and another one in the box.

"I already collected Shane's things," Heidi continued, her voice wobbling a little. She was going to miss him while he was away. "He's already inside the office, waiting for you two to get here. The briefing's scheduled to start in a few minutes."

Max glanced at the Chief's door, letting all the information sink in. "Only me, Trixie and Shane?" he asked after a contemplative moment, wanting it all clarified. It was a pretty bare-bones team, was all he could think.

Heidi put the box on top of her desk. "The Chief will be accompanying you, too."

Chief Ogilvie hadn't been out in the field for a very long time. Max didn't like what he was hearing. Frowning, he grabbed her wrist. "Heidi, what's this all about?"

"I don't know. I truly don't." She shook her head, making her ponytail bounce. She didn't want to focus on the fact that her boyfriend and two of her closest friends were being assigned to one of the most serious missions in their agency's history. She herself had just left her meeting with the Chief. She'd been given the task of keeping their agency running. Hell, she didn't know if she could do it. Chief Ogilvie hadn't allowed her to refuse. Her pretty face briefly showed some of the strain she was under. "I truly don't. All I know is I've never seen the Chief like this before. Whatever it is, Max, it isn't good."

Her words confirmed his own suspicions. It had to be bad, to call him out of retirement, to code it the way it had been, to assemble such a small team, and then to force them into black-out mode. Plus the Chief was joining them. Yeah, something bad was going down. Or about to go down. He put his hands on his hips, glanced at the clock and saw that they were right on time. They'd be finding out soon enough. All that stood between them and their assignment was a single closed door. "Well. Belden, it seems it's about time we find out what all the hullaballoo is about. Come on. Let's get to it."

"Not yet. Trixie?" Heidi stopped her before she could follow Max to the doorway. "I'm sorry. I need your hat, too. You can't bring it with you. Not this time. It's got to stay."

Trixie flipped off the worn-looking hat. She crossed over to Heidi and laid it on her desk. Using the time to her advantage, she warned her friend softly, aware that Heidi would have to be the one to face whatever questions he had, "Jim will come here. I know he will. He'll want to find out why I had to leave so quickly. He's not going to like it. He's not going to be happy. And he's going to have a ton of questions for you. You need to be ready."

"Thanks for the heads-up, Trixie. I'll tell him what I can." After putting the hat inside, Heidi closed the box and locked it. She'd already suspected as much. Jocelyn would also become a permanent fixture at the agency. At least she'd have lots of company, she thought, her forehead wrinkling. They could all worry together.

"Please. Do that." A red light blinked on Heidi's phone, letting them know that the Chief was ready for them. Even though the Chief hated tardiness, Trixie ignored the call and caught Heidi's wrist. "You can tell Jim that I'll get in touch with him as soon as I can."

"Consider it done." Biting her bottom lip, Heidi glanced down at the red light. There was no need to pick it up. The Chief wanted his agents. "You've got my promise, Trixie."

It was all she could ask. Letting go, Trixie dredged up a small smile of appreciation and mumbled quietly, "Thank you."

"Now, you two better get in there." Heidi sat down in her chair. Her fingers started nervously drumming along the gleaming edge of her desk. "The Chief needs you now."

Trixie opened her mouth, reconsidered what she was going to say, and then turned on her heels, about to obediently follow orders when she came to a sudden stop. Why the hell hadn't she told Jim that she loved him? Why? She'd had ample opportunity over the past week. And last night…holy hell. _Last night_. She almost turned around to ask Heidi to tell him for her. But he couldn't hear those words from a stranger. He shouldn't. He deserved better than that. But she could have Heidi tell him something else. Satisfied, she spun around on her heels. Her blue eyes shone with her determination. Her words rang with it. "Tell Jim not to worry about me. I'll come back to him. Let him know that I mean it."

"Yeah. I will." Heidi nodded her head and slipped the box under her desk. She'd secure it later. Then a loud buzz joined the red light on her phone. Grimacing, she looked apologetically at Trixie. "Really. You'd better get in there."

"I know. I know. It's time." Trixie didn't hear Heidi answer the phone. She walked purposefully towards the office door, grateful that Max had waited for her, and set her shoulders in a stiff line. They shared a knowing glance but no words. There wasn't anything left to say; not now. After taking a deep breath, he opened the door, stepped over the threshold and joined the others in the somber room. Hesitating, she stood, framed in the doorway. Duty was calling, whether she liked it or not. It couldn't be ignored. Because she had to, she went in.


	44. Chapter 44

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Four

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Beautiful and bright sunlight streamed through the wispy curtains, spreading attractive little patterns over everywhere it touched. Jim dragged a hand across his face in a vain attempt to block out its brightness and released a small groan when he realized how useless it was. With his other hand, he reached out for the woman who should have been residing next to him. To his surprise, he came up with nothing but a tousled blanket.

"Trix?" he called out groggily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He leaned over for a closer look. Yep. She wasn't in bed anymore. Through blurry eyes, he read the numbers on the alarm clock. 8:38. He called her name again. When she didn't answer, he flopped back against the plump pillows and contemplated her whereabouts. She was probably getting ready for the day. With a light smirk playing across his lips, he imagined her morning routine. She probably went to the kitchen first to brew a fresh pot of coffee. He actually sniffed the air, imagined he could almost smell the scent of freshly brewed caffeine. Then she'd take her cup out to the deck, to enjoy her spectacular morning view. Oh, yeah. That's where she'd be. Out on the deck, watching her ocean, sipping her coffee and without a care in the world.

Solving the mystery of Trixie's morning ritual to his satisfaction, he allowed himself a few more minutes to enjoy the comfortable bed, to remember the glorious night they'd shared. Together. She'd surprised him at some point in the middle of the night, had woken him up out of a sound sleep with a sultry gleam to her beautiful blue eyes and busy hands on his body. It hadn't taken too much convincing on her part to get him fully involved, he recalled with a masculine chuckle. Looking back at Trixie's place on the bed, he smoothed a hand over her pillow. "You are one amazing woman, Beatrix Belden," he mumbled under his breath and threw back the covers. "I think it's time I find you so I can tell you that."

Blissfully ignorant of his naked state, he cheerfully whistled his way through her bedroom, collecting all of his necessities from his suitcase. For once, he didn't take the time to make sure everything was tidily arranged. He left the remnants of his clothing scattered in untidy piles. His shower was quick, as was his need to see her again. After draping a towel over the shower bar, he started out of the room, unconsciously humming the entire time, too damn happy to do anything else.

Because he expected to find her out on the deck, he went to the French doors first. A little line crinkled his forehead when he couldn't find her there. Shrugging a resigned shoulder, he turned away and walked towards the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, gave an experimental sniff. His frown immediately deepened. He'd expected to be assaulted by the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee. It wasn't there. With another shoulder shrug, he started poking around in the cabinets until he found the items and took care of the coffee himself.

"Maybe she went for a run or a walk," he muttered to himself as the coffee maker began percolating. After spending a week with her in Vegas, he understood that exercise held an extremely important place in her daily regime. Her body needed to be strong. When the coffee was finished, he poured the liquid just the way he liked it, strong, black and unblemished, and meandered his way into the living room, still lightly whistling under his breath. "She'll be back soon."

Content to wait for her return, he flopped down on the sofa, took a long sip from his cup, and sighed. The caffeine was just what he needed to kick start his day. Thinking channel surfing would help the time go by, he absently reached for the remote from the coffee table and saw a notebook out of the corner of his eyes. Curious, he scanned the handwritten words quickly. And then his heart fell into the very pit of his stomach. Plunking his coffee cup on the table, he dropped his head into his hands and let out a garbled, "Dear God."

Lifting his head, he sent one long searching glance around the room, hoping against hope that she'd suddenly appear, a wide smile on her pretty face and her charming giggles filling the air. When that didn't happen, when the quiet of the house wasn't so comfortable anymore and felt more like it wanted to suffocate him, he looked back down at the note. This time, he read the words more closely than he had the first time.

_Jim, (the letter ran)_

_Oh, gleeps. I don't know how to say this. I really don't. So I'm just going to have to say it. It's happened. I can't believe it but it's happened. I've been called in to work. I can't turn it down, no matter how much I want to. And I do want to. I can't believe how much. But I can't. In fact, Max is going to be here in a few minutes to pick me up. It seems we've been called in together._

_I didn't expect our time together to end like this. We had such a beautiful night, too. You have to know that I'm so thankful for it. I only wish that we could have had more. There's nothing I can do, though. I can't ignore this call. I don't know what it's about yet but I believe that it's serious._

_I'll call you as soon as I'm able to. Who knows? Maybe even before you read this note. Again, I'm so sorry, Jim. I'll get in touch with you when I can. You have my promise._

_Trixie_

_Oh, yes. Here are my keys; to the house and my car. Feel free to use them. Explore San Diego. Whatever you want to do. Stay as long as you like. I'll return as soon as I can. _

He shook his head as if to clear it, wondering if it was all a figment of his imagination, but, when he read the notebook for a third time, the words hadn't changed. They were still there, messily scrawled in her travesty of handwriting; in stark and unforgiving black and white. But the words didn't matter. The meaning did. She really was gone.

His elbow caught his mug when he put the notebook down. Liquid spilled out onto the white carpet below. Not even noticing the ugly black spot rapidly making a mockery of the bright white of the carpet, he let out a slow expulsion of breath. Another letter, one she'd left for him seven years earlier but he'd only found the strength to read a few months ago, flashed before his eyes. The parallel, painful as it was, wasn't lost on him. She'd left him then, just as she'd left him now. With only a note to say good-bye. He hadn't responded well last time. He hadn't even read that letter; hadn't wanted to. He'd felt hurt, betrayed, angry. This time was different. Much different. There weren't any of those fiercely strong, and fiercely detrimental, emotions coursing through his veins. They'd been too honest with each other, had come too far. He trusted her. With every bit of his mind. He respected her. With every ounce of his soul. He loved her. With every beat of his heart.

It was one of those rare moments. Picture perfect. When the air goes still; when the sounds stop. When the only thing one can truly be aware of is the power of their own thoughts, their own feelings, their own truths, no matter how harmful or helpful they may be. Jim pressed his hands against his thighs, an amazed expression on his face. Sometimes, the answer was so simple. So breathtakingly simple. He loved her. Dear God, how he loved her. More than anything. And that simple knowledge made all the difference in the world.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring unseeingly ahead. Then he remembered what she'd written. She'd said she'd call. With a look bordering on wild entering his eyes, he jumped up and sprinted back into the bedroom in a mad dash for his cell. It was where he'd left it the night before; in the back pocket of his discarded jeans. Muttering incoherent words under his breath, he found the battery where he'd left it on her dresser. He managed to drop it twice before slipping it back in and waited impatiently for the object to warm itself up. Damn, there had to have been a text or a call from her by now. There just had to be. She'd promised to get in touch with him. And she wouldn't break a promise. The phone took its sweet time warming up. Glaring and swearing at it didn't help matters. When it was finally ready, the screen showed plenty of missed calls, plenty of new texts. But there wasn't a single one from her cell number. Not a single, freaking one.

Desperation ate at him, tearing great big chunks out of his heart. How the hell could it have happened, so quickly and without warning? How could she be gone? He sat down on the bed they had rumpled together and quickly punched in her cell number, his fingers uncharacteristically jerky and hurried. He was met with immediate disappointment. It went straight to her voice mail. He left a message, telling her to call him back as soon as she got it. A similar text message was next. He typed it too quickly, got frustrated when the automatic spell check fixed a few words and turned his message into something silly and nonsensical. He wasted precious seconds by going back and re-fixing it the correct way. Finally, the message was sent out. He waited for her, his emerald eyes fixated on his cell, willing her to respond.

It didn't come. He fell back against the bed, zeroed in on the ceiling fan above them. It moved in a constantly slow motion, swirling around the cool central air of her house. Finally his logical mind took over. He began looking at the new development from all angles, trying to piece together what he knew. She'd been called in, exactly as she'd warned him she could. She'd told him she couldn't ignore a call. He couldn't argue with the truth. But he ended up focusing on the most important part to him. He wondered on why she'd chosen not to wake him up, on why she'd opted not to say good-bye. The question floated through his mind. With the newfound connection they had re-established, he was able to accurately guess her reasoning. It made it easier for her to leave, for her to draw a much-needed line between her professional life and her personal life. He knew the effort must have cost her. A lot. But the understanding didn't make it any easier on him. His lips pulled back into a sneer while he swore yet again.

He still couldn't puzzle out why she'd been called in. The answer wasn't written on her ceiling, no matter how long he stared at it. It couldn't be found in her house, either, or out on the beach, no matter how many times he paced through them or across the smooth sand. No, he thought as he blinked against the blithely rising sun. There was only one place where he could find some sort of satisfaction. Her agency. It had to be her agency.

Filled with a purpose, he strode up the deck steps, across the stained floor of her deck, and slammed the French doors shut. Unconsciously, he flicked the lock behind and raced into the living room. He stopped long enough to grab her keys. After blowing through the front door and barely remembering to lock it, too, he was at her car. This time he didn't notice the way it still smelled like it was brand new. He moved the driver's seat back to accommodate his longer limbs, folded his body into the seat and jammed the key in the ignition. He threw it in reverse and backed up, his only objective to get to her agency and find out what the hell was going on. Lively music played on the radio. It didn't register, didn't matter to him. He didn't take the time to turn it off or turn it down. All he wanted to hear was her voice.

The traffic wasn't kind to him. It was frustrating. Irritating. Infuriating. Not only was it crowded, it also seemed he hit every red light imaginable. It didn't help matters when he took two wrong turns and had to do some serious back tracking. GPS was a godsend. He was too frazzled to be appreciative. An ugly sneer set a perpetual twist to his lips. Thirty-five agonizing minutes later he was grumbling and finally turning into the parking lot of her agency.

From somewhere within he noted that the parking lot was much fuller today than it had been yesterday morning when they'd left. Not caring that his parking left much to be desired, or that he was taking up nearly two spots, he opened the door, and rushed to the side door. The damn thing was locked. Frustrated, he gave it a good solid kick.

"You can always try the front door," a quiet, somber voice announced from behind him. "I'm going to do that right now."

Amazingly, he recognized the owner. He glanced over his shoulder. There was Jocelyn, looking about the way he felt. Only she had sunglasses blocking her eyes from his view. "Hey," he muttered, a red flush spreading across his face. "Sorry about that."

"There's no need to be sorry. I feel like kicking something myself." She mustered up what an optimistic person might call a smile and rubbed a hand over her expanding belly. "I'd probably tip over, though, so I'm going to have to leave all the kicking to you and to Junior, here."

He arched an eyebrow. Since she was looking at him expectantly, he gave the door another solid kick. It startled a choked chuckle out of her. "Does that work for you?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll probably still want to break something when I get home, though." She blew out a breath, tucked a loose piece of hair behind an ear and motioned with her hand. "Come with me, Frayne. I'll get you upstairs. I might even be able to get you a few answers."

Grateful for the offer, he swiftly fell into step beside her. Together they walked on the sun-dappled sidewalk to the front of the building. Hell, it was too damn cheerful out. Birds were chirping, the sun was sparkling, people were smiling and laughing as they walked past them. Why the hell did it have to be so…nice? Jim would have preferred dark gray storm clouds compared to the endless bright blue of the sky and people with sneers and frowns to the happy and carefree Californians going about their normal lives. It just plain sucked, all-around. He kicked a small pebble out of the way, earning a small snort from Jocelyn. He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes and broached the subject. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Nope. I wish I did, though. I'm doing what you're doing." When he appeared confused, she added with a defiant toss of her head, "I'm planning on interrogating Heidi. She's the one who'll know what's going on. I want to know where my Max is. I want to know what he is doing."

Jim came to a sudden stop. "I thought Max was retired," he murmured, confused.

"He's supposed to be." She blew out a frustrated breath. As much as she would have liked to beg and plead, she couldn't have prevented him from accepting the assignment. Not when he'd shown her the code he'd received. As a former agent herself, she'd immediately understood the need and couldn't fault her husband from accepting it. As a wife and expectant mother….well, she hadn't been quite as understanding. At least she hadn't allowed the full force of her feelings to surface until after Max had left. She touched her sunglasses, glad that the dark shades hid her eyes from view. She didn't like anyone to know that she'd cried.

Jim didn't reply. He held onto her elbow, assisted her up the steps and into the front of the office. A receptionist behind a sliding glass door waved a greeting at them.

"Good morning, Linda," Jocelyn called out with as much gaiety as she could muster. "We're going up to visit Heidi."

"I'll let her know you're coming up." Linda smiled at the two and gave a half-hearted wave as her phone started ringing again. "It's wonderful to see you again, Jocelyn. With Max leaving us yesterday, I didn't expect to see you any time soon. You must know that we're going to miss working with him."

"Thanks, Linda," Jocelyn replied, her smile a little tighter than it should have been. Not wanting to engage in any more polite conversation, she grabbed onto Jim's arm with a vice-like grip and practically dragged him away. "Don't worry," she called out over her shoulder. "We'll find our way up. Have a good day!"

Left with no choice, Jim followed along, extremely amazed that a pregnant woman could move so fast. They didn't slow down until they reached the stairs. He followed her up the stairs and studied the photographs of important San Diego landmarks on the wall. "Trixie didn't exactly get a chance to tell me how all this works. Is Linda…"

"No," Jocelyn answered immediately. Her hand gripped the stair railing as she halted. Speaking quietly so only he could hear, she shared, "Only a handful of agents actually work through this agency. Most of the people here are real private investigators or actual employees. It lends credence to our story, helps keeps our agents' identities safe and secure. It only works because our agency, our true agency, needs to blend in to survive. Secrecy is very important to us. It's the nature of the beast, I'm afraid."

"All right." Since he couldn't come up with any other questions; at least, not any that she could answer, he fell silent. He dug his heels in when they neared Trixie's office. He pushed open the door and looked in. It was just the same as it had when he'd been in it yesterday. There wasn't any sign that she'd stepped foot in it today at all. For some reason, that worried him even more. Jocelyn waited for him in the hallway, all sympathetic. She didn't hurry him along, giving him all the time that he needed. When he rejoined her, she started moving again.

"Here's Heidi's office," Jocelyn murmured when they approached the office at the end of the hall. "She's the personal assistant to the Chief."

"Yeah. I know. I met her yesterday," Jim shared, finding it surreal to be back in the agency so soon.

"She'll know some of what's going on." Before entering the office, Jocelyn put a firm hand on Jim's elbow. She needed to warn him. "Frayne. You need to know that she may not be able to tell us a lot."

"You mean, she may not be able to tell me a lot," he clarified, trying not to sound offended.

"No. Us," Jocelyn corrected fiercely. She slipped off her sunglasses, dropped them in the humongous faux leather handbag hanging from her arm. "I'm an ex-agent. While Max has been given clearance to share most information with me about the different missions he's been on, I highly doubt if this situation calls for it. We may walk out of here knowing absolutely nothing. You need to be prepared for it. _I_ need to be prepared for it."

He saw the truth of it in her red-rimmed eyes. "I understand," he whispered quietly. And he did. "Let's go."

The second they darkened her doorway, Heidi glanced up from her desk where she'd been pretending to work. She'd been waiting for them. She hadn't needed Linda's call. From somewhere within, she dredged up a small smile for the two arrivals. "Good morning."

Even though she knew Heidi wasn't responsible, Jocelyn couldn't resist taking a little of her anger and frustration out on someone. She shot back a snotty, "What's so damn good about it, anyway?" Without being asked, she huffed her way in and took a seat in front of Heidi's desk, her arms crossed over her chest and a decidedly unfriendly look on her face.

"Tell me about it," Heidi grumbled under her breath, in perfect agreement. She ran agitated hands through her hair. Little hair clips she'd placed in earlier fell with a rhythmical sound to her desk. She picked one up, started opening and closing it. This time she didn't try to smile. In a low voice, she admitted, "I've been expecting you two."

"You've been expecting us?" Too wired, too worried, Jim couldn't sit down. He leaned against the wall, studied the large room. He hadn't taken much notice of it yesterday when they'd visited it. He'd been too preoccupied with Trixie. Or, more accurately, he'd been too excited about being with her. Well-decorated and extremely tidy, with the newest forms of technology at her finger-tips, the office spoke of a high-level of efficiency and effectiveness. His father would've appreciated it.

"Trixie said you'd come. Right before she was called into the office, she told me," Heidi shared, noticing the way his eyes slammed into hers when she said her name. He was hurting, that much was obvious. Compassion welled within her. She turned in her chair to face Jocelyn, their third. "And I knew you'd come, too. You'd want to find out what's going on."

"Damn straight I do," Jocelyn snapped, steepling her fingers under her chin. For a woman nearly finishing up with her second trimester, she suddenly looked formidable. There was steel in her tone when she suggested, "Why don't you close the door, Frayne?"

He didn't have a choice but to comply. She waited until they were closed off from the rest of the agency. Then she turned back to Heidi and demanded, "What can you tell us?"

"There's not a whole lot." Feeling defeated, something she didn't like to experience, Heidi lifted her shoulders. She leaned back in her chair and declared, disgusted with the entire episode, "All I can tell you is that we've got a bad situation on our hands."

"You can do better than that." Jocelyn persisted with a narrowing of her eyes. She flexed her fingers, glowering at Heidi. "So, do it."

"Chief Ogilvie didn't fill me in on the situation. Honestly, he didn't, Jocelyn. I'm not lying. I'm not hiding anything, either," she insisted, allowing the truth to show on her face. She waited until her friend nodded her agreement before continuing, "Only Max, Shane and Trixie know the full extent of the problem. I wasn't allowed in the room for the briefing. But, even if he had told me, I wouldn't be able to tell you. Or Mr. Frayne here, either," she hastened to add, hating the fact that she didn't know a damn thing about what was going on. All who had been left behind were completely in the dark, each and every one of them. And she couldn't stand it.

"Fair enough." Jocelyn believed her. Never, in all the years she'd known Heidi, had her friend ever lied to her. She inched forward to the edge of her chair. Feeling less bristly, she inquired again, in a much friendly tone of voice, "What can you tell us, then?"

"You're not going to like it," Heidi warned her ahead of time.

Jocelyn released a chuckle devoid of mirth. "I already hate it. Frayne, here, already hates it. And I know you hate it, too, so there's not much you can say that's going to make any of us hate it even more."

"We'll see." Heidi got up. "Wait here," she ordered her visitors and entered the Chief's office. She came back with the lock box. Bypassing her desk, she placed it on a low table and perched herself next to it, where she was in close proximity to her visitors. She could carefully gauge each and every reaction from her new vantage point.

"What's that?" Interested, Jim left his post by the wall and craned his neck, curious about the box and what it contained.

"Agents aren't always allowed to take their personal affects with them when they go out on a mission" Jocelyn explained, eyeing the box strangely. She'd put her belongings into similar boxes like that one countless times over the years. She couldn't figure out what was so special about this one. "It's part of our protocol."

"It's more than protocol. This time." Heidi opened the box. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the bright pink cell Trixie had turned in, as well as Max's, and laid them gently on the table. She winced at Jocelyn's shocked gasp.

Jim grabbed Trixie's cell and turned it over in his hand. Not surprising, it was off. After turning it on, he saw the little emblem signaling his missed call, as well as the recent text he'd sent her. No wonder she hadn't responded to him. She couldn't. She didn't have her phone with her. Her phone…her phone! Something important slipped into his mind about their Vegas adventure. Confused, he glanced up sharply. "I thought she always had to have her cell with her."

"Not when they're on black-out," Heidi explained quietly, watching Jocelyn close her eyes in resignation.

Jim repeated the phrase, unable to comprehend what it meant, "Black-out?"

"Black-out," Heidi repeated again, knowing her words fell like a death knoll to Jocelyn. As affected as the others, she reached in the box and found some comfort by touching Shane's cell. Although he couldn't receive or respond to her text, she'd still sent him one, wanting him to know how much she loved him and that she couldn't wait until he returned home. He'd get it when he got back. That was…almost enough for her. "They can't get in touch with us, Frayne. No matter how much they want to. And that means…

"We can't get in touch with them," Jocelyn finished. All the color drained out of her face.

A smart man, Jim had already figured it out. What he couldn't figure out was why. Why the hell would they have to leave their cells behind? He couldn't comprehend it. Trixie had been adamant about always having her cell with her. At all times. Why would she have voluntarily left it? He aimed a glare at Heidi and demanded, "Why?"

"When a mission is deemed to be on as serious a level as this one is, the Chief can order a black-out for his agents, if he believes it to be necessary. It's not a detriment, though. It's actually a precaution, a way to protect the agents who have been called out into the field," Heidi tried to explain.

Which meant that the mission was more dangerous than any of their normal ones. He didn't need her to explain any further. Slowly the information sank in. It was something else for him to worry about. Trixie, his Trixie, was out there, without any way of getting in contact with anyone. "Wh…wh…" He stumbled over the word. He tried again. "When will they be back?"

"Can't say." Heidi placed Shane's cell back in the box. "I wasn't given a possible time frame. I wasn't given anything. I can't ask the Chief either." She looked directly at Jocelyn and waited until her friend met her gaze. She would understand the strength behind her statement. "Chief Ogilvie went with them."

Never in her years as an active CDA agent had the Chief ever participated in a mission. Jocelyn's face went past white. It was her worst fear confirmed. "Oh," she mumbled, staring down at her hands. She clutched them together, suddenly feeling very cold. "Damn."

"Exactly." Heidi's shoulders slumped in unison with Jocelyn's.

Jim eyed both women carefully. Jocelyn looked defeated. Heidi appeared emotionally exhausted. He didn't want to analyze how he was feeling. "I take it it's a big deal having your Chief go out in the field?" he surmised correctly.

"You got it." It took three attempts before Jocelyn was able to push herself out of her seat. Because her back was getting sore, she ambled along the carpet, letting all the facts as she knew it swirl around and around in her mind. It all added up to one ugly conclusion. It was big and it was bad, whatever it was.

"I've been left in charge for the duration of the mission," Heidi shared into the sudden silence.

That stopped Jocelyn in her tracks. She whirled around as fast as her extra baby weight would allow. She grabbed hold of a bookcase to help steady herself before she could topple to the floor. "Heidi!"

"Yeah. I know. At least that's the last piece of news I have to share with you." She let out a sardonic chuckle, disgusted by the entire situation. With eyes downcast, she muttered, "I'm sorry, Jocelyn. I'm so sorry."

Jocelyn rubbed her stomach to quiet the kicking baby within. She wasn't certain who she was soothing more; her baby or herself. A low growl emanated from deep within her throat. "It's not your fault, Heidi. It's not anyone's fault. I just wish…" She left it hanging. There wasn't any need to finish her statement. Every person standing in the room could finish it.

"I wish, too." Heidi wrapped her arms around Jocelyn and held on tight. "Hey. On the bright side, you've got a roomie until that handsome husband of yours comes back. Right after the briefing, and right before they left, he made me promise to stay with you."

Jocelyn knuckled away a tear. Normally she would've turned down the offer. Not this time. She could use the moral support. And Max wanted it to happen. She would honor his request. It was the least she could do. She nodded her head, returned Heidi's hug with a strong one of her own, and murmured a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Jim watched the two friends together. When they placed their heads together, he looked away, wanting to give them some privacy. He ended up looking into the box and unconsciously catalogued the other contents inside. Almost smiling, he fingered the ripped brim of her old hat before pushing it aside. The overhead lighting glinted brightly off a small item inside. It was a ring. A thin gold ring. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling it out and palming it. It felt smooth and cool. He dropped it into his pocket. The fates weren't allowing him to have Trixie with him but, by God, he was going to have her ring. Absently, he started rubbing the answering one on his left hand. He didn't want to take his off. It fit like a dream.

Heidi watched him over Jocelyn's shoulder. She hid an amused grin when she realized what Jim had done. But she didn't make him put it back. Trixie would have to see him to get it back. Clearing her throat, she announced, "Max wasn't the only one who made me promise him something."

Jim's head shot up. "What?"

She allowed her smile to bloom. He looked so damn hopeful. "Trixie did, too. She wanted me to tell you not to worry about her. She'll come back to you, just as soon as she can." Pitching her voice lower, she added with a broad wink, wanting to bring a little levity into the situation, "If you ask me, I believe returning to you is her prime directive."

For the first time since he'd found her note, a genuine smile crossed his lips. It was small but it was actually a smile. She wanted to come back to him. It was enough. For now. "Good to know," he replied, suddenly feeling a sense of hope.

Jocelyn pulled back. Much like Trixie had done a few hours earlier, she squared her shoulders, knowing that she would have to be strong and stay strong. For herself, for her husband, for their baby. "Well. Good. It's time to call an end to this pity party, people. We've got to focus on what we can do."

Heidi supplied them with the first suggestion. She was going to be doing an awful lot of it herself, right from within the confines of her office. "Wait. It's hard, probably the hardest thing I can ever remember doing, but we're going to become excellent waiters. We can't hurry them. We can't get in touch with them. We can't even help them. All we can do is wait until they get back."

"And pray. We can do lots of praying," Jocelyn chimed in, a sense of purpose putting some color back in her cheeks. Such simple things, really. She could do both of them. "Waiting and praying are definitely doable."

"And communicating," Jim declared forcefully, staring hard at Heidi. Since she was currently in charge, she would be the first to find out the status of the agents. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was the first link. And he was well out of the realm of the agency's communication. He wasn't an agent; had never been an agent. He didn't have a direct line to them. But he wasn't going to allow them to keep him out of the loop. He had rights, damn it, every bit as much as them, and he wanted to make sure they saw to him, too.

"I hear you. I hear you," she insisted strongly, holding her hands up in supplication. Scurrying over to her desk, she picked up her cell and showed him the information she'd already programmed into her phone. His cell, home and work numbers. "No need to fret, Frayne. I'll keep in contact. With _both _of you," she stressed, for his benefit. "You will not be ignored. Trixie wouldn't have it any other way."

"Thanks," he said, satisfied, and glanced around the room one more time. At a loss, he decided it was time to be alone. "I'm…ah…going to head back to Trixie's house," he said to no one in particular. "I'm going to hang around here for awhile, just in case they return earlier than expected."

"You can call me or stop by here anytime you want," Heidi offered quickly. She jotted down her cell number and gave it to him. He pocketed the note. "I'll be here. And, when I'm not here, I'll be over at Jocelyn's."

He nodded his appreciation. "I guess I'll be talking to you soon." He turned, headed towards the door and started the slow walk down the hallway. This time, he went into Trixie's office. It looked just the same as it had done yesterday. Small, cramped, with the same worn sofa and the ultra-neat desk. After closing the door, he slowly sank down, leaned his head back against the soft cushions of the couch, and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the tension headache starting to form behind his temples. San Diego wasn't turning out to be what he expected it to be. But at least he'd learned something vital this morning. Once Trixie returned, he would never, ever let her go again.


	45. Chapter 45

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Five

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Good Lord, what a difference a week made. Seven measly days. Here he was, sitting in a stopped taxi on the busy evening streets of New York City when he'd give just about everything he owned to be enjoying the scenery of her beautiful backyard, with her laughing by his side. But it was not to be. Grumbling, he thought back to what his day consisted of: an extremely long and frustrating trip full of missed connecting flights, inclement weather, and lost luggage. Only his carry-on and his laptop made it back with him. He didn't know where the rest had ended up. With his luck, probably on a flight bound for Rio or maybe Athens. After sitting in Chicago for nearly seven hours, he'd almost, almost, given in to the urge to call up the company jet but he hadn't. His father would have demanded to know why he needed to request it. He still felt too raw to converse with anyone from home. In fact, he'd successfully ignored every single voice mail, every single text, and every single email anyone had sent him over the past week. The only people he'd chosen to communicate with were Jocelyn and Heidi. And those communications couldn't exactly be termed satisfying.

The ends of his mouth tilted down as the taxi inched forward. No one had heard anything about their agents out in the field. It was like the group of four had permanently dropped off the face of the earth, which, as Heidi had politely explained to him countless times over the past week, was exactly what they were aiming for. It was beyond frustrating; for all of them. Heidi had finally suggested that he return home and resume his daily life. Waiting around for news that didn't appear to be forthcoming any time soon was set to drive him crazy. She'd pointed out several times that at least he'd have work, his family and his friends to occupy his time. It had taken him two days before he finally accepted her suggestion. However, he'd only agreed to leave after she promised to update him with texts…several daily texts…on a regular basis.

He continued to brood the rest of the slow-moving taxi trip to his apartment building. When the vehicle finally reached its destination, he gave a start, lost in the doldrums of his own mercurial thoughts. He vaguely heard the cabbie call out an amount. In an uncharacteristically rude move, he tossed a few bills at the driver without even bothering to see what denominations they were. Then he climbed out, planted his feet on the sidewalk and faced down the sleek and stylish building. He hadn't wanted to go on the vacation; had dreaded it the moment his mother and his sister had tag-teamed him into going on it. Now, all he wanted was to be back in Nevada, and have the opportunity to share the suite with Trixie again. Swearing under his breath, he strode to the front door, his long legs eating up the sidewalk at an impressive clip.

He didn't acknowledge his doorman's congenial greeting; completely ignored the cheerful 'welcome back' shout out from one of his neighbors. With a frown that was beginning to feel perpetual wrinkling his face, he pushed the up button and waited for the elevator to come down for him. It was his dumb luck that a harassed-looking mother and her two bickering daughters joined him in his wait. He stared straight ahead; didn't once glance in their direction even when one of the girls accidentally splashed some of her red slushy on his shoe, and moved into the open elevator, hoping the family of three would choose to wait for another ride. Of course, they did not. The ride up to his floor seemed to take forever. He did his best to ignore the girls, who seemed to get louder with each floor they passed. Their voices resonated throughout the small carriage of the elevator as they argued over the best musical act of all time. One was firmly in Justin Bieber's corner; the other insisted One Direction could beat him with all their hands tied behind their backs. He tried not to wince as the argument grew more heated and nodded once at the apologetic murmur the mother offered him. A silent sigh of relief accompanied him when the elevator doors released him from his captivity. But the sudden silence didn't help relieve the tension headache cheerfully brewing away behind his eyes.

A few fumbling attempts with his key and he was back inside his apartment. Home, he thought to himself with an ugly sneer, giving his carry-on bag a careless toss to the side. It landed with a thud on the carpet. He took a little more care with his laptop. The sneer seemed to grow as he looked around the place with a critical eye. Hues of brown, shades of dark green, and hints of deep burgundy met his gaze, pretty much every where he looked. The color scheme should have been comforting, should have made him feel welcomed. After all, he'd done the painting himself, had bought each and every piece of furniture. But it didn't soothe, comfort or welcome, not like it used to. Nothing could; not when all he wanted was to have the one person he couldn't have greet him.

"Damn it!" Jim swore out loud, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. He wasn't sure if he was more frustrated with himself or the entire situation. Since his head felt like it was about to explode, he wrestled open a bottle of Tylenol and downed three of them in one quick gulp and immediately felt minutely better. At least the ache in his head seemed to have been numbed. Belatedly, he remembered it was best to use water when taking medicine and grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator.

After flicking on a lamp, Jim slapped the unopened bottle on a table, dropped down onto the sofa and took out his cell from his pocket. A quick check of his cell showed him that Heidi was keeping her promise. She'd sent him a text. Unfortunately, there wasn't any news on Trixie and, as usual, she couldn't anticipate when there would be. He shouldn't have expected anything different; he knew it and ended up shaking his head.

For the first time in a long time, he really looked down at the touch screen on his cell and studied it closely. "Whoa," he murmured, caught somewhere between unwelcome surprise and acute embarrassment. He quickly touched in the texts, missed calls and voice mail messages. The sheer volume made his mouth drop open. He swore again. There were missed contacts from everyone. Honey. His parents. Oh, and he couldn't forget the unreturned messages from the rest of the Bob-Whites, either. All of them. Except Trixie, of course. He grimaced as if in pain, shocked at himself for letting their responses go unnoticed, as well as unreturned. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder, almost as if he expected all of his friends and family to be standing in the room, with recriminating expressions on their faces, and scrubbed a hand over his own.

Because his mouth was suddenly feeling dry, he gulped down the water. While calling each and every one of them was the proper thing to do, as well as the right thing to do, he couldn't actually bring himself to do it. Nah, not with the way he was feeling. It wasn't going to be an option. It would require too much energy on his part. And all of them would recognize that something was dreadfully wrong with him. It would be much better for his equilibrium if he put off verbally communicating with anyone; at least until the morning when his mental facilities would hopefully be working better. He eyed the clock on the wall; noted that it was rapidly closing in on ten o'clock. Instead of calling, he settled for the safety net the little keyboard provided and went to work composing one all-encompassing text for every single one of them. After claiming he'd lost his cell (and he absolutely refused to feel guilty for the little white lie) he assured everyone he was just fine and had enjoyed his vacation so much that he'd felt the need to extend it a little. He informed them he'd just returned to his apartment and was looking forward to a nice long nap after a frustrating flight home. Then he clicked send, set his cell to vibrate in case Heidi or Jocelyn would attempt to contact him again, and placed it on the table.

God, he'd never realized how quiet his apartment was. The thick glass windows weren't only energy efficient. They blocked out the hum of the busy evening traffic below. He reached blindly for the remote, which he always kept in the same spot, and flicked on the large flat-screen television set. He wasted about ten minutes searching for something to find. Nothing grabbed his attention. He eventually settled on a news channel. After stuffing a decorative throw pillow Honey had gifted him with as a house warming present behind his head, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Exhaustion, blessed exhaustion, slowly began to creep over him, while the voices of the newscasters droned on and on, lulling him to sleep.

Hours later an insistent knocking…no, maybe more of a loud pounding, got through to him and pulled him out of an extremely deep, soundless, and dreamless sleep. "Wa…wha…who? What's this?" he garbled out, shaking his head to clear it as he bolted straight up. He ran a hand across his chin, grimaced in disgust at the remnants of the drool he wiped away. "Nice," he muttered sarcastically. The noise sounded again. Through squinted eyes, he could just make out the pale stream of light coming through his windows. It was morning? Already? He ran a hand over the painful crick residing in his neck and eyed the floor, having no desire to get up and find out who was standing on the other side of his door, demanding to be let in. With the way he felt, he figured they could just stay there.

"Open the damn door now, Frayne. Don't play possum with me. I know you're in there," a loud, disgruntled, and, unfortunately for him, very familiar voice demanded from the other side.

He bit back a vicious curse. Out of all the people who could choose to visit him, this person was the last one he wanted to face. Especially at what appeared to be six-forty-five in the morning. "I knew I should've waited to contact people," he grouched under his breath and stumbled over his carry-on on his way to the door. Which, he was slightly shocked to notice, hadn't even been locked. Just showed where his current state of mind was right now. He rolled his eyes at his obtuseness and threw back the door. His greeting wasn't the most cheerful or welcome he'd ever offered. "Mangan."

Dan's obsidian eyes widened degree by degree. "You look like hell, Frayne," he noted after a prolonged study of his friend. Since Jim wasn't moving from the doorway, he pushed his way in. He couldn't hold back his sardonic assessment of the situation. "I wonder why."

Jim closed the door and almost, almost, banged his head against it. But that would be a sign of weakness. And Daniel Mangan would jump all over it. Not wanting to appear weak, he went on the offensive, "Look, Dan. I'm not in the mood for an interrogation from you. I got back last night and I'm still tired."

"Yeah. I know you returned last night. I got your informative text." Dan let the thick sarcasm pour off his lips. He put the impressive pile of mail he'd taken from the clerk at the front desk on the pristine kitchen counter, as well as the carrier containing two eco-friendly coffee cups. He hadn't wanted to come empty-handed. And he'd much rather have Jim alert for his line of questioning. Smirking, he pulled out his own phone and read Jim's own message back to him, "'Sorry I haven't responded in awhile. Lost my cell. Just found it. Anyway, I've made it back. Had a good vacation but a frustrating flight home. TTYL.'"

Jim winced at the words. And the initials. He never used initials when texting. And the message…It sounded so aloof and impersonal. A heated flush smeared its way across his face. Not one of its recipients would have appreciated the message. "I guess it's not my best work," he mumbled weakly without meeting his friend's all-too-knowing gaze.

"Tell me about it." Arching an eyebrow, Dan slipped his phone back in his pocket and pointed to the mail. "I picked up your mail downstairs. They know me. The coffee's from me."

Jim didn't say anything. He skimmed over the impressive pile of mail, decided he'd much rather go through it later. Much later. He did accept the coffee cup Dan handed over and took a healthy, grateful sip. Black. Just the way he preferred it. Knowing he needed to improve his game before taking on one smirking Daniel Mangan, he turned away from the door, muttered something about needing to freshen up, and stumbled his way down the hall, clutching the coffee container for all it was worth.

Amused, Dan watched him go; all without making a comment. There wasn't much fun in poking at an opponent who was already as low as he could get. He'd give him some time first. Then he'd go after him, with both barrels blasting if it was necessary. Feeling positively jovial, he grabbed a container of coffee for himself, took a refreshing sip, and started whistling an off-key tune. Since he needed something to entertain himself, he pawed through Jim's two-week stack of mail. "Impressive," he declared, amazed by the amount that had accrued during the past fourteen days, and began sorting the envelopes into three piles: bills, junk mail and magazines. As he worked, he noted aloud, "Good God, your mail is boring, Frayne. There's not much interesting here."

He raised his eyebrows at a copy of _Field and Stream_ before shaking his dark head. His fingers brushed against a larger business-sized envelope, hidden underneath a new copy of _National Geographic_ magazine. He picked it up, examined it closely through narrowed eyes. "Whoa. Hold your horses there. Maybe your mail's not quite so boring after all," he declared after a long, quiet contemplative moment. Jim's address was handwritten across the front. No return address was included. He tapped the postage stamp, noted with a little chuckle that the location of the postal office had been smeared and couldn't be read. Tapping a finger against the squeaky-clean tiled counter, he muttered, "Can't tell where you came from."

After turning the envelope over and contemplating it some more for a long minute, he glanced up and shot a speculative look towards the hallway. No Jim. He could hear the running water of the shower. Then he looked back down at the envelope. Maybe it wasn't the best example of Bob-White behavior. Maybe it was definitely something the others wouldn't dream of doing but Dan simply couldn't resist. Ever so carefully, he started peeling back the flap that helped seal the envelope. He moved slowly, not wanting it to appear too obvious that the envelope had been tampered with. It took a good two minutes before he finally succeeded. After pulling back the metal clasp, he reached inside and gently tugged out the contents.

And did a comical double-take. He let out a low, amazed whistle, hardly daring to believe what he was reading. After picking up the accompanying note, written in the same slashing handwriting that had addressed the envelope, he finally understood it completely. When he heard the sound of a door opening and another one closing down the hall, he replaced the set of papers back into the large envelope. But he couldn't keep the pleased grin off his face. Chuckling again, he strolled back into the living room, imagining Jim's reaction. "Frayne, my man. You are in for one _hell _of a shock."

Unaware of Dan's amusement, Jim decided to take as much time as possible, in the hopes that his guest would have given up and left. No such luck. Jim strode back into the kitchen fifty-two minutes later. The warm shower had done wonders for him but the added time hadn't dissuaded his guest. He came to a stop in the doorway, grimaced at Dan who was currently lounging in a recliner and watching the latest in sports news on ESPN. Defeated, he hooked a stool with his leg and sat down. He motioned to the mail, all sorted into neat stacks on the counter. "Anything good?"

_If only you knew._ Dan kept the humorous thought to himself and lifted a bored shoulder. "Looks like a bill or two, some credit card applications, a few fliers, magazines and such. Nothing that interesting," he lied without a qualm.

Not being able to drum up any interest, Jim pushed the closest pile of mail away. "I'll get to it later, then."

"Best time to do anything," Dan chirped out cheerfully and bounded out of the lounger. Making himself at home, he hummed his way into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets. He pushed aside the boxes of cereal, wondering why on earth Jim insisted on buying so much health-food crap, and finally settled on a granola bar, which he considered the best of an extremely bad lot. Through a mouthful of loud, crunchy, but not very delicious, granola, he inquired, "So, are you gonna tell me what happened or not?"

"No. I don't think I am." Jim suddenly found the floor interesting.

"Cool. I can respect it." Wiping away a few crumbs off his shirt, Dan walked back around the counter. He scooted a stool out from under it and settled his large body down onto, sitting directly across from Jim. With dark sparks of impish delight dancing in his eyes, he steepled his fingers together. "You should probably know that I just came off a long shift. I'm not expected back into work until tomorrow night." Leaning back, he spread out his arms, then tucked them behind his head. "So, you see, I've got all the time in the world."

Jim leveled a frustrated glare in Dan's direction and declared dryly, "Let me guess. You're not leaving until I tell you."

"Nope. I'm not," was Dan's too blissfully cheerful answer. He opened a drawer at his side, pulled out a set of take-out menus and started thumbing through them. "I know it's still morning but I think Chinese sounds good for lunch. Maybe we could even have Italian for dinner." Knowing he was pushing it, he grinned at Jim. "You in?"

Beyond irritated, Jim settled for a roll of his eyes. If he was in a better mood, he would have had to chuckle at Dan's mischievous expression. As it was, he gave in, albeit none too gracefully. "You're not going to be here for lunch."

He peered over the take-out menu from _The China Buffet_. "Ah, man. Such a shame. The chicken chow mien was looking especially delicious this morning, too," he bemoaned, an exceptionally snarky grin on his lips.

"Smart ass," Jim mumbled under his breath. Feeling suddenly nervous, he jumped off the stool and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, an unconsciously defensive position. The question came out of his mouth like a snobby shot. "What topic do you want to know about? San Diego, the weather, the beach?"

"Now who's being the smart ass?" Dan countered smoothly, not taking the least offense. Jim was always defensive when it came to Trixie. He didn't expect anything less. Retucking his hands behind his head, he settled himself more firmly on the stool and slowly shook his head from side to side. "Jim, Jim, Jim. You've already got to know what, or whom, I'm interested in. There's only one subject."

"Isn't there always?" Jim released a long, slow breath.

Dan eyed his friend closely. "What happened between you two, man? I thought you and Trix finally got your collective acts together. Judging from…this…" He swiped a hand through the air, motioning to Jim's extremely lackluster look, he continued in an intentionally irritating drawl, "I'd have to say that I was quite wrong."

"Thanks."Jim gave a slightly strangled laugh and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Let's just say that San Diego didn't turn out quite the way I expected it to."

Dan tried not to let his surprise show. Judging from his last view of the two, he'd have laid every last cent he'd owned that Jim and Trixie would have successfully mended every single fence and then some between them. "In what way?" he inquired neutrally, deciding now that Jim was willing to talk to talk, he'd better not push. At least, not overly much.

Jim appeared not to hear the question. He glanced off into the distance and let out a garbled sound that masqueraded as a laugh. He absently pushed the stool in and started pacing the thick carpeting of the floor. "Did you know that her house is pink? On the inside? It's got to be the oddest thing, Dan. Never once did I expect our Trixie to live in a house decorated in shades of pink."

"Me, either." Dan followed Jim's movements as Jim increased his pacing, making a mental note of how he'd referred to her as_ our Trixie_. There didn't seem to be any ill will offered towards her, not from the redhead's direction. His eyebrows drew together while he attempted to puzzle out the problem. What could it be? Obviously, the two hadn't partaken in a knock-down, drag out fight. They hadn't parted on bad terms. But something was definitely off. Wanting to keep him talking, he noted quietly, "Pink's not exactly her favorite color."

"Tell me about it. And everything inside her house was so…," Jim stopped to search for the correct word. He looked back at Dan. "Frilly. It turns out that she was given the house as a reward after completing a successful mission. It came fully decorated. She never saw the need to change it, though. She's lived there all these years and never once changed a single thing about it."

Dan's eyebrows winged up. It was very telling about their girl and her house. Since letting Jim ramble seemed to be the best course of action, he made a non-committal sort of a sound deep within his throat while the picture Jim painted of San Diego Trixie began blossoming in his mind.

"She lives right on the beach," Jim continued, stopping in front of a large window. He unconsciously brushed aside a thick cream-colored curtain. "She loves the beach. You can't blame her. And you can't beat the view. It's magnificent. She told me it's her favorite part of the house." Then he thought for a moment before mumbling lowly to himself, recalling his own reaction to his arrival at his apartment, only a short while ago, "House. House. She never called it her home. It's always her house." San Diego wasn't her home. Had never been; would never be. No matter how long she lived there. He put a hand out, met the smooth glass of the window, and frowned, deep in thought.

Dan lifted his head, curiosity mixing with concern. "What's that? You're mumbling. I can't hear you over here."

"Ah. Nothing, nothing." Jim pivoted around and started pacing back, all the while contemplating more and more into Trixie's house and what it meant; what it could mean. The conclusion he came to offered a great deal of hope. In fact, he could possibly even do something about it. The unexpected thought shot through him, with the force of a sudden burst of the most vivid sunlight. It was so bright, so clear, so incredibly shocking and just plain right. Aware of Dan watching him, he cleared his throat and tucked the inspiration away, for when he was alone. "Anyway, we had a nice day together. She took a long nap after we got there; I got to explore her house. When she woke up, we had dinner and talked and watched the ocean. You know, it was just…nice."

Certain it was much more than a mere _nice_, Dan chose not to press Jim into going into any further details. Truly, he did not want to know. At least, not about…_that_. However, there had to be a reason behind Jim's hang-dog demeanor. Bluntly, he stated, "If everything was so damn nice, then why are you here, looking like the biggest version of crap I've ever seen?"

"You know, you're really good for the self-esteem, Mangan," Jim accused, glaring daggers at his friend.

"Hey. Don't mind me. I tell it like it is." Dan topped it off with a mile-wide toothy grin, not offended in the least.

For the first time since Trixie had been called in to work, a real laugh trickled out. It was rusty, certainly wasn't the most mirthful one he'd ever employed, but it was an actual laugh nonetheless. After the laughter cleared, he started playing with the gold ring still encircling his left ring finger. He hadn't taken it off. Not yet, not when it made him feel even closer to her. The matching, more delicate one was tucked away in a small compartment in his carry-on, where he'd chosen to put it until he found a better spot. It took a few seconds for him to admit, "When I woke up the next morning, she was gone."

Dan sat up straight, all joking aside. "Gone?" he repeated, all serious.

"Yeah. Gone. She left me a short note, her car and her keys." Jim stopped by the window again. Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he looked down at the flow of the morning traffic below. He probably should be a part of it but returning to work today didn't seem like the best idea. He definitely didn't have the desire for it. Besides, his armor wasn't intact yet. Anyone would be able to see through it, especially the sharp eyes of his father. Tomorrow would be better, after he had some time to build up more of an immunity.

Skirting around the counter, Dan marched purposefully into the living room, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. "All right. Enough of this stilted explanation. Give it to me straight. What the hell happened? Why is she gone?"

Jim tapped a finger against the glass. He didn't turn around. "It's just like I said. She was gone; called in. Unexpectedly."

Dan flicked off the television set, effectively cutting off the annoying voices of the sportscasters. "And…" he prompted, his dark eyes turning into thin, narrowed slits. "There's got to be more."

Jim slowly turned around, looked his friend dead in the eye. He didn't flinch. "She's CDA. Remember?"

All he needed to know. "Hollywood doesn't exactly have the luxury of turning down missions, does she?" Dan murmured quietly, understanding completely.

Jim didn't agree. He didn't need to. "After I processed what had happened, I went to her agency, talked to her friends. Jocelyn and Heidi? You've heard her mention their names before, right?"

"Yeah. Of course." Dan nodded curtly, classifying the names quickly. "Jocelyn's married to Max."

"And Heidi works for their Chief. She's his personal assistant," Jim quickly filled Dan in, although he had a pretty good idea that Dan had already put it together. "That morning I met Jocelyn in the parking lot. We went up to Heidi's office, wanting to know what was going on. She couldn't tell us about the mission Trix was called in for. She didn't know any of the particulars about it. All she could tell us was that it's pretty serious."

"How serious?" Frowning, all thoughts of teasing long gone, Dan crossed his arms over his chest and waited impatiently for the answer with an unhappy scowl on his face.

"Serious enough to pull Max right out of his retirement. He lasted a whole day, in case you're interested. Serious enough to include their Chief as a member of their team." Then Jim picked up his cell from the table. "And serious enough to put them in black-out mode. We can't contact them. _Any_ of them," he stressed needlessly.

"And they can't get in contact with us." Dan muttered an ugly, pithy four-lettered word that had Jim nodding his agreement before slowly conceding, "Well, now I see why you look like hell. I kinda feel like it myself."

"Tell me about it." Jim barely resisted the urge to give the nearby table a good, swift kick. Sharing the news with his friend hadn't lessened the burden at all. "Anyway, I stuck around San Diego for awhile, hoping for some news but…"

"It kinda sucked looking at the same four walls, with nothing constructive to do," Dan finished for him. "And no news coming in."

"Exactly. So, now I'm back." He didn't add that he wished Trixie was with him. Or that he didn't have any kind of a drive to get back to work or even socialize with his family and friends. Right now, he felt like he was residing in a permanent state of limbo. Truly, the only way to break out of it was to hear from Trixie. Or, more accurately, was to see Trixie. To touch her. To hold her. To…he closed his eyes tightly, quickly derailing his tantalizing train of thought. It was not wise to have any kind of a fantasy about Trixie, especially when he was in the same room as the sharp-eyed Daniel Mangan.

"And Hollywood? When will she be back?" Even though he voiced the question, Dan already knew the answer.

Jim scrubbed a hand over his tired face. "I don't know. None of us do. Apparently, this isn't a normal, run of the mill kind of secret mission for her agency. It's something different."

Satisfied he had the gist of the story; Dan didn't ask any more questions. He walked over to Jim, clapped a hand on his shoulder. His deep voice rang with certainty while he claimed, "She can handle it, Jim, whatever it is. She's strong. She's capable. She'll get it done. I promise you that."

"Yeah. I know she can handle it. I believe in her." Jim drew in a deep breath. Still looking unseeingly out the window, he admitted the truth, "That's not the problem. I don't know if I can handle it."

Dan's grip tightened briefly before he let go. His original plan of teasing Jim into looking at that one special piece of mail faded into obscurity. At the moment, it would just be plain mean of him to tease and torment the tortured soul. Plus he didn't want to take advantage of Jim when was looking so vulnerable. Instead, he walked back to the counter, found the envelope and carried it over. If he handled it the right way, there was a chance that the contents inside could give his friend some much-needed hope instead. And possibly offer him a way to keep him grounded, too. Dan held the plain manila envelope in his hand and cleared his throat. "There's something in here you probably want to see," he announced, suddenly appearing guilty. "I…ah…hope you don't mind but I…ah…already checked it out."

"Isn't tampering with mail a federal offense?" Jim glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifted high, and a tiny smile playing across his lips.

Taking it as a good sign that Jim was teasing him, Dan held out his hands in supplication and returned Jim's smile with one of his own. "Are you gonna turn me in?"

"Not today." Chuckling, Jim accepted the envelope and turned it over in his hands. Little lines wrinkled his forehead while he inspected it. Nothing appeared all that interesting to him, though. It looked just like a plain large envelope, the kind he saw every day at work. He glanced up questioningly.

"It's what's inside that counts," Dan hastily assured him before crossing the room. When he reached the door, he glanced back. He had a pretty strong hunch that it was going to be a godsend. Exactly what Jim needed right now. "I'll leave you to it, Jim. And the secret is safe with me. Bob-White honor, all right?"

"Bob-White honor?" Jim repeated, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"Trust me. You'll understand." Dan let out the club's renowned whistle and grinned. "And remember. Keep in touch, okay?"

"Will do." Jim waved an absent hand and waited until the door closed behind his departing friend. Staring at the envelope with considerable more interest, he had to grin. The only thing keeping it closed was the clasp. Dan hadn't done a very good job of sticking it back together. Of course, he probably wouldn't have noticed it had already been opened without Dan telling him ahead of time. He wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed right now. Shaking his head, he unclasped it and slid a hand in. A little slip of paper came out first. Curiously, he frowned down at it. The handwriting wasn't familiar.

_Frayne, (the handwritten note ran)_

_You should know that whatever happens in Vegas doesn't always stay there. At least, not when the CDA is involved. Consider this your payment._

_Max_

_P.S. You get to tell Belden._

A note from Max? Wondering what Trixie's partner could have sent him, Jim reached back in and carefully pulled out the last item inside. He scanned it quickly, gave a sharp, almost painful gasp, and then reread it a second time, followed swiftly by a third. With knees threatening to give way, he slowly sank down onto the sofa, Max's note falling to the floor. He didn't notice nor particularly care. All he could focus on was the certificate in his hands. And the words boldly printed across it. As hard as it was to believe it, it was true. It had to be. It was right there, right in black and white, right in front of his very astonished eyes. He mouthed the words as he read them for the fourth time.

His full name. _James Winthrop Frayne, II_

And hers. _Beatrix Bernice Belden_

Both printed underneath a fancy header proclaiming the piece of paper as an official _Certificate of Marriage_.

Signed, sealed, and now delivered.

"Oh. My. God." He breathed it out slowly, his eyes a deep emerald of hope mixed with shock. And then he said it again. Absently, he reached for his left hand, felt the ring encircling his finger. A solid circle of gold. It had always felt real. To him. Ever since she'd slipped it on. And, now, thanks to Max, it truly was real. He didn't doubt it. He couldn't. No, he'd learned firsthand that the CDA could do whatever they set their minds to, no matter what. For whatever reason, Max wanted to make their marriage a true one. For him; for her. He couldn't hazard a guess as to why the agent had taken it upon himself to do such a thing. But it didn't matter; not to him. All that mattered was the fact that their marriage was truly real and not a fabrication.

Holy hell. It was real. _It was real. _A jolt of pure, unadulterated joy shot straight through him. He didn't know it, couldn't feel it, but the largest, widest smile was currently working its way across his lips. For the first time in a week he felt complete, as if a part of his rather frayed and tattered soul had finally been healed. She was his wife. Against all odds, against the tricky hands of fate, she was his wife. _His wife._ All he had to do was wait for her to return home. To him. And he was never, ever going to let her go again.


	46. Chapter 46

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Six

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Offering only a soft knock, Madeleine brushed back the half-opened door and sashayed into her husband's large office, one slender hip at a time. A sea of thick carpeting greeted each and every arrival. A large, informal meeting area was set off to the left, complete with comfortable leather furniture, a smartboard for business meetings, and a fully-stocked bar. To the right was an impressive row of floor to ceiling windows, which offered an amazing view of the bustling city below. Her husband's imposing desk sat at the back. She paused, one expertly plucked eyebrow arched exceedingly high. He hadn't noticed her arrival yet. He was frowning down at a contract in his hand and muttering a string of unintelligible words. There was a thick line taking up residence on his forehead. It was clear that he was displeased. Judging from their conversation of the night before, she didn't have to guess who was causing his current level of upset. Her tone was exceptionally cheerful in order to counteract his melancholy demeanor. "Good morning, Matthew."

With a blatant snort of disgust, he slammed the contract down on his desk. Grateful to have someone to complain to, especially his wife, he leaned back in his chair, glared up at the ceiling and sneered, "Damn it, Maddie. He's done it again."

"Yes. I can see that." Apparently unconcerned, Madeleine approached the bar and poured her husband an invigorating glass of iced tea. She knew he'd prefer something harder but the day was much too young yet. He'd do much better with something more innocent and less potent. Smiling serenely, she carried it over to him and offered it. "Here you go, Matthew."

He accepted the glass with one hand and captured her hand with the other. Turning it over, he pressed a small kiss to the back of her hand, his way of thanking her. "Have you visited him yet?"

"No. I almost stopped by when I got here but…" Madeleine smoothed a hand over her intricately braided hair and lifted a delicate shoulder. "I didn't. I firmly believe our secret weapon will have better luck than either of us will."

"Secret weapon." Matthew repeated the phrase to himself with an amused chuckle. "Yeah. I think you've got it right, Maddie." He glanced down at the expensive watch on his wrist. "When's she due in, anyway?"

"Any time now." Madeleine poured herself a refreshing glass of lemonade and perched gracefully on the chair in front of her husband's desk. After daintily crossing one ankle over the other, she took a small sip and added, "Mark my words, Matthew. She will be able to get to the bottom of our problem better than either of us can."

Knowing how close they were, Matthew mumbled lowly, "Yeah but will she tell us what he tells her?"

She lifted her head, confused. "What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing," he insisted, clearing his throat. Matthew picked up the contract again, reread it for the fifth time, and swallowed back a frustrated groan. He should just tear it up, already. The contract was in terrible shape. It was completely useless. "Can you believe it, Maddie? Jim's made the same mistake on this piece of…" He stopped himself when he caught her owl-eyed stare and quickly substituted another word for the four-lettered one he was going to use. "Crap three times. Three times! And it's not just this stupid contract. It's like he's floating through each day. And he's only been back from vacation for a few days! He still gets here before everyone else does. He still leaves after everyone else has headed home. But he gets absolutely nothing done. Nothing! At least…" This time he wadded up the contract into a wrinkled ball and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket, exactly where it belonged. "Nothing of quality."

"I know, dear. I know." Madeleine made a low series of soothing noises. Reaching over, she covered her husband's hand with one of hers and squeezed tightly. He needed placating right now. "I understand. I truly do. I feel the same worries, the same frustrations, that you have. It doesn't help matters that neither one of us has been able to get anywhere with him, either."

"'Nothing's wrong, Dad. I'm just fine,'" Matthew grouched, pitching his voice lower in a poor imitation of Jim's. "'What do you mean? How could anything possibly be wrong? I just came back from a vacation.'" The edge of one upper lip curled in disdain while he snorted derisively, "Pitiful. Just plain pitiful."

She had to bite back a sudden wayward smile. Watching her husband imitate Jim was oddly amusing. With the way their son was acting, she needed the amusement right now. Lifting her glass, she offered him a sincere salute. "Excellent show, Matthew. Excellent. You should take it on Broadway."

Matthew stood up and started pacing the wide expanse of his office. He unconsciously started loosening his tie, frustrated beyond belief with his only son. Now that he'd opened the flood gates, the complaints continued to flow out like wine from an opened bottle. "I don't get it. I simply don't. How can someone go from being a world-class workaholic and then turn into…this?" He grabbed the offending contract from the wastebasket and shook the crumpled ball in front of Madeleine's face. "Three times, Maddie! Three times! And the worst part is that Jim hasn't reacted either of the times I gave him the contract back. He didn't even notice!"

"Again, I understand completely, darling." Smiling up at her husband, she started blinking, knowing she needed to soothe back a few of his more than ruffled feathers. With the natural grace she'd been born with, she stood up and wrapped her arms around him. Gently she led him over to the large sofa, speaking quietly the entire way. "You need to let it go, Matthew, and put your trust in your daughter. This tension isn't going to do you any good, you know."

"I thought a vacation was supposed to rejuvenate an employee, not send him to the unemployment line," Matthew complained under his breath. "He even extended his vacation, for crying out loud. I mean… what the hell? What the hell could possibly have happened to turn Jim into…well, into this?"

Madeleine pushed him down onto the sofa with a little more force than necessary. "Patience, Matthew. Remember. It's a virtue."

Closely resembling a petulant school boy instead of the high-level entrepreneur that he was, Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her. "Maybe I don't want to be patient. Maybe I want to knock some sense back into that damn red head of his again."

"Matthew…" she began, warning lights starting to flash in her eyes.

He held up his hand, stopping her. "Not an option. I get it." Blowing out a loud sigh, he added, "I only wish that…Hell, at this point, I don't know what I wish."

"I do. You wish that he was acting more like himself, instead of like the walking dead," Madeleine finished for him with a sigh filled with motherly worry.

"Exactly." Matthew dragged a hand through his thick hair. He didn't voice another of his worries. He couldn't. It was downright selfish. Ever since Jim had shared his plans of becoming a corporate lawyer, he'd hoped and prayed that his son would want to take over the family business. That hope was swiftly fading away into pathetic nothingness. No, he wasn't ready to admit it out loud yet, even though the suspicions were growing with each and every pile of paper on Jim's desk. As much as he'd like to hand the reins over to his son, he couldn't deny the fact that it was becoming more and more doubtful that he ever would.

They weren't closing in on starting their third decade of marriage for nothing. Even without him uttering a single word, she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone. And why. "I'm sorry," she said, her words quiet and sympathetic.

He lifted his head. He shouldn't have been surprised. They'd been together long enough to understand each other's thoughts and wishes. "Thank you," he responded simply, managing a small smile for her benefit.

"You've still got a few good years left in you," she pointed out, with a cheerful little wink, wanting to make his smile spread wider. Luckily, it worked. "Don't let the future worry you yet. It'll come. Just enjoy what you have."

"You mean, what we have." He leaned over, gave her a tender kiss on the lips. "You continue to amaze me, Maddie. You can always tell what's bothering me. Often before I even know it myself."

"That's what wives are for." She tenderly traced his cheek with the back of her hand. Tilting her head to the side, she let out a cheerful gasp and pointed a jeweled finger towards the doorway. "Look, Matthew. Our equalizer is here."

He swung his head around. Bounding from his seat, Matthew let out a loud, excited laugh just as their only daughter crossed over the threshold and entered his office. "Honey!" he greeted her enthusiastically and spread his arms wide open.

Giggling, she hurried across the room, threw herself into her father's arms and hung on tight. When her mother came to stand next to them, she disentangled herself from him and gifted Madeleine with the same warm hug, too. "Daddy. Mother. It's so good to see you again."

"And it's lovely to have you here." Madeleine stepped back to study her daughter. She smoothed her hands over Honey's hair. "Look at you! You're just as gorgeous as always."

A light rose blush tinted her cheeks at the compliment. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to visit yesterday," she murmured softly, taking a seat on a nearby chair. She waited until her parents sat down on the loveseat. "I couldn't call off work on such short notice. There were too many clients I needed to see. Today worked out much better for me."

"You don't need to apologize," Madeleine hastily assured her. "Your father and I are excited that you were able to come. As you know, neither of us have had any luck in dealing with that stubborn brother of yours."

Honey's pretty topaz colored eyes took on a darker hue at the mention of Jim. Right now, _stubborn_ was a good word for him. Oh, and there were plenty of other words, too. "Yes. He's been very…difficult to deal with on the phone, too." A slight frown settled on her face before she smoothed it away. Just the evening before, she'd attempted to get through to the heart of the matter with him, via the cellular lines. Not surprising, it hadn't worked. "Do you know that he pretended we had a bad connection last night? As if I didn't hear him crumpling up the piece of paper right by his cell phone," she finished with a sardonic sniff of pure annoyance.

"At least he answered your call. He chooses to avoid us," Madeleine explained, leaving a calming hand on her husband's shoulder. She could feel the tension beginning to build within him again. All of her hard work, she thought with an inward sigh. "When we do run into each other, all he gives us are short, stilted answers."

"'Everything's fine. Had a great time in Vegas. Oh? Where did I go after Nevada? Just California for a short time,'" Matthew repeated Jim's annoyingly clipped answers and threw his hands up in the air. He nearly knocked the glass of lemonade out of Madeleine's hands. "California? I mean, out of all the places he could have gone, why the hell did he go there?"

"I'll try to find out for you," Honey replied with her famous tact. Inside, she was starting to plan out her line of questioning. James Winthrop Frayne II had some serious explaining to do. Not just about his trip or his serious shift in his work ethic. She kept the secret to herself, unwilling to share with her parents the fact that one Beatrix Belden had crossed Jim's path while he was in Vegas. In her opinion, she was obviously the reason why Jim had moved on to California…and why he wasn't acting like his normal self, too. "Anything I can share with you, I will."

Madeleine shared a telling glance with her husband. Just like they thought. Honey would only tell them what she felt she could. Giving in as gracefully as she could, Madeleine gestured over to the bar. "Do you want anything to eat or drink, dear, before you take on the lion in his den? It might be good to fortify yourself."

"Oh, no. I'm fine, Mother." Honey smoothed out the imaginary lines in her dove-gray slacks. "I'm anxious to get going, actually. I've been simply dying to hear what my full-blooded adopted brother has to say for himself when we're live and in person. He won't be able to ignore me or cut me off, I can promise you that."

"Go get him, Tiger," Matthew encouraged her with a hearty chuckle. Having complete faith in his daughter, he led her to the door and held it open for her. Winking, he whispered, "Show him no mercy."

With a sharp glint to her eyes that she'd inherited from her father, she replied confidently, "Believe me. I won't." After a farewell wave to her parents, she headed down the busy corridor, murmuring greetings to the multitude of employees she passed. As she closed in on Jim's office, her pace slowed down with each step. Pausing by his door, she pressed her back against the wall and carefully peered in, wanting to get the lay of the land before she entered the fray. He wasn't at his desk, where she'd expected him to be. No, he was at the window, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped. Defeated. He looked defeated. She covered a startled gasp with her hand and swung her head around to look at his desk. Usually the epitome of tidiness, it was covered, absolutely covered, in folders and papers. His inbox, which was infamous with the other employees for being perpetually empty, was crammed full. Pens and pencils were scattered across the desktop, with a few having fallen to the floor. There were a few coffee containers, half-full water bottles, and, she hoped, empty food containers on a nearby table. All in all, it was the most cluttered she had ever seen a work space of Jim Frayne's.

_All right._ The state of the office told her more than she needed to know. Gearing up for battle, she straightened her shoulders. Clearing her throat, she struck a casual pose in the doorway, an overly bright smile on her face and that wicked Wheeler glint to her eyes. Loudly, she sang out, using the same blithe tone her mother had employed with her father a short while ago, "Good morning, Jim!"

Jim's back went stiff. She was the phone call he'd been dreading; the text he'd been avoiding. And the visit he was the most worried about. When he'd hung up on her last night, he figured he was in the clear. At least, for a little while. Stupid, he told himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It took forever for him to turn around. When he did, a ghost of a smile flittered around his mouth. "Honey."

Her answering smile widened. For once, she could read his emotions plainly. He was looking at her with the wariness a mouse would eye a lion right before snack time. It gave her the confidence she needed. Regally, she inclined her head to the side. "Mind if I close the door?"

Since being rude to her wouldn't improve matters, he shrugged a shoulder and opted for polite. "Be my guest." When she complied, he inquired casually, "It's Tuesday. Shouldn't you be working?"

"Oh. No. Not today." Honey strolled into the room. She sat down on a chair, fluffed her shoulder-length hair for good measure, and added, "Since yesterday didn't suite my schedule, I put in for a personal day for today. It was approved." She leaned forward, winked at him. "My supervisor really likes me."

"Delightful," he mumbled under his breath, barely resisting the urge to groan. When Honey pointed to the open chair across from her, he dragged his lead feet over and sat down.

She overlooked the blatant sarcasm. "Yes. It is," she replied, taking his response at face value. "I've wanted to visit you ever since I found out you were back. The scheduling didn't work out until today, you know," she paused expectantly.

A full ten seconds passed with his sister blinking innocently at him. Blinking! It gave him serious pause. Well aware that there was some kind of a trap being laid for him, he drew back. "Oh?" he finally said.

Her giggles tinkled like the wind chimes on her porch. "My first thought was to visit you over the weekend. But, well, it was Brian's first full weekend off since our honeymoon. And, even though I really, really, really wanted to see you, I simply couldn't pass up the chance to spend the time with my husband. With his schedule, who knows when it will happen again?"

Her laugh grated on his nerves. At least he now understood why he'd been given a reprieve over the weekend. He'd been expecting, and dreading, her visit well before this. Looking down at his hands, he mumbled, "It's good that you didn't visit. I ended up working. There's been a lot to catch up on."

She followed his hand to the mountain of unfinished work on his desk. Obviously, not much had been accomplished. Choosing not to address it, she settled for another pretty, hopefully disarming, smile. "So I see. How wonderful for you," she complimented him. "You are always happiest when you're working."

He didn't think there was much truth to that statement anymore. At the moment work felt more like an uncomfortable prison than anything else. Even though it was a sign of weakness, he dragged a hand through his hair before muttering something incoherent.

She took his non-verbal sound as an agreement. "Well, enough with the chit-chat." She reached over, tapped him on the knee. "You must know why I've been so anxious to see you again."

"You want to hear about Vegas." Although it took a considerable strength of will, he met and kept her gaze.

"Las Vegas is just the start." Wagging her finger at him, she shook her head. "It's not all that I want to talk about, Jim Frayne. Not at all. And you know it."

Did he ever. The silence stretched on, seemingly until it wanted to suffocate him. He took a deep breath, glared down at the offending carpeting so hard that the poor thing should have burst into flames at his feet, before finally admitting, "Yeah. I do."

Leaning across the table, she tucked a finger under his chin and tilted his head up until she could see into his eyes. Emerald green, swirling with the most complicated mix of emotions she'd ever seen in them. It gave her pause but, since she needed to know and he wasn't going to get anywhere without sharing with someone, she continued on. "I've been pushed to the side long enough, Jim. I didn't push back. I didn't prod. I followed Dan's wishes perfectly. He told me to leave you alone until you got home. Well. Now you're home. And I want to know what happened. While you were in Las Vegas. With_ Trixie Belden_," she stressed, just in case he attempted to stonewall her again.

A response popped in his mind but there was no way he was going to bring up the fact that Belden was no longer her last name. Oh, no way in hell. He owed it to Trixie to share the little, nearly tiny, insignificant piece of information with her before anyone else found out. Wait. Tiny? Insignificant? Yeah, right. He reached for the finger on his left hand, the one that should have been sporting the ring which he knew was safely tucked away at his apartment. Still, he touched the spot where it should have resided and felt minutely better. Bravely, he tried to bluff. "We happened to be staying at the same hotel, Honey. It was no big deal."

Okay. Her brother was an idiot. A world class idiot if he thought that load of bull was going to satisfy her overwhelming curiosity. Folding her hands in her lap, she crossed one ankle over the other and waited a full minute. "Excuse me?" she inquired, one eyebrow arched in a carbon copy move she'd learned at the feet of her mother. "You do realize you are talking to me. Correct?"

"Yeah. Right. I know who I'm talking to." Starting to feel warm, he reached up, gave a quick tug to his tie and loosened it. Since it felt better without it constraining his neck, he finished unlooping it and began running it through his fingers. Nervously. "We ran into each other, Honey, spent a little time together. Hung out with Dan when he got there. You know, Bob-White type of stuff, only in Las Vegas and with a few less members of our club. That's it. That's all."

Her mouth bowed open. In disappointment or displeasure, she couldn't tell. She contemplated him for the longest of times, catalogued each and every little movement he did. It didn't escape her attention when his eyes slid away from her. She saw the flush flood his face. And she couldn't miss the way he was playing with his tie. "Wow, Jim," she breathed out in total amazement, giving her head a tiny shake. "It's no small wonder you never lie. My God. You are terrible at it."

His gaze shot back to hers. He couldn't contradict her, not without digging a further hole for himself. She was staring at him with the most incredulous expression on her face. Worse, she knew. "Okay," he gave in ungraciously, berating himself for attempting to brazen it out to began with. Obviously, a serious miscalculation on his part. "Maybe it was a bigger deal than I want you to believe."

"You could say that again," she remarked with a huffy tone to her voice. "You seem to be forgetting that you answered my call to Trixie. When you were in Vegas. I'm not an idiot, Jim. It didn't take too many brain cells to figure out just _why_ Trixie was in your suite." She rolled her eyes to emphasize her point.

Damn it. He felt his face heat again. Wondering when his language had been reduced to grunts and grumbles, he nevertheless grumbled under his breath again and jumped to his feet. Since pacing seemed to be the only productive avenue open to him anymore, he began pacing again. "All right," he finally conceded, whirling around and glaring at her. "I admit it. You're right. We were together in Vegas. We shared my suite. Is there anything else you want to know?"

She wanted to laugh at the extremely mulish expression on his handsome face. She didn't. Instead, she settled for a serene nod that belied the hard gleam in her eyes. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing. "It's only the tip of the iceberg, Jim. There's more here; I can feel it." She spread out her arms, crossed her legs and settled comfortably against the back of the chair. "I'm not leaving from this spot until I hear it. All."

She was serious. He recognized the force behind her calmly uttered words. He swore again; this time internally. Moving back towards her, hating to have to do it, he pulled out a different chair, flipped it around, and sat down, his fingers dangling off the back of it. "You're a real pain in the ass, Honey Belden. Just about as bad as Mangan. You know that, right?"

"That's quite possibly the nicest compliment you've ever said to me," she said with a laugh, not taking offense. He'd put her in excellent company. "Besides, it's what little sisters do. We pry and pry and pry and then pry some more until we find out everything we can about our big brothers' lives. Especially when a certain big brother has managed to make a mess out of his."

He'd loved to have defended his life. But there was too much proof sitting all around them. Yeah, she was right. His life was in shambles. "Maybe there's more to the story than I've told you," he shared slowly.

"So far, what you've told me doesn't even constitute a story. Maybe a brief snippet in the fanfic world but that might be giving you too much credit." She wagged a finger at him. "Judging from the state of your desk and the rest of the office…" With the tips of her fingers, she picked up a white greasy bag that smelled like it had once held a cheese-steak with the whole works, carried it over to the wastebasket and gracefully dropped it in. "Whatever happened between you and Trixie is seriously affecting you. Again."

"You know, you should have become a shrink instead of an occupational therapist," he noted with a wry grin, having to chuckle when she wrinkled her nose.

She gave a little curtsy. "Another compliment. Thank you."

Jim actually chuckled. "I guess I'll start at the beginning. If that's all right with you?"

She topped off her curtsy with an aristocratic nod of her head. "Please do."

Drumming his fingers against the back of the chair, Jim started their story, vowing internally to himself to leave certain pertinent information out. Honey couldn't be told everything. "It all started the first evening I arrived there. After spending a couple of hours up in my suite, I ended up going down to a bar. For a drink. That's where I ran into Trix."

Since the room could use some serious cleaning, Honey took the wastebasket over to the table and began tossing away the remnants of Jim's most recent meals. She hid a smile at the way he called her Trix, as well as the wistful expression on his face. "She was in the bar?"

"Yeah. I didn't realize at first that something was off. I was too shocked to see her. I didn't pay close enough attention to all the minor details, I guess." A little smile played across his lips at the memory of Trixie, dressed in one of her sexy little numbers. It seemed like such a long time ago when, in reality, the memory wasn't even three weeks old yet.

Since the table was now clear, Honey scooted over to the small bar and used a generous spritz of hand sanitizer to wash away any germs. "What 'minor details' did you miss?"

"Her clothes. Her make-up. Her hair. Pretty much everything." Jim chuckled at the memory. Damn, she'd looked so different. He'd been too star-struck to see her, live and in person and only an arms-length away, to even notice the glaringly obvious details. "She was on an…assignment," he said, quickly substituting the word assignment in place of mission. It seemed to suit the explanation much better. Honey, he understood, couldn't know the complete truth of Trixie's job. She wasn't cleared for the information. "You know, for her agency. As such, she needed to…ah…dress the part."

"Floozy, huh?" Honey guessed correctly, chuckling a little at the thought of Trixie Belden all dolled up. She turned a critical eye on the rest of the room. With the exception of the mess of paperwork on Jim's desk, there wasn't much else she could do. She took her spot on the chair again, prepared to enjoy the story.

"Something like that." Slightly surprised that talking about Trixie made him feel better, Jim aimed his famous lopsided grin at her. "Anyway, I showed up at the wrong time. I ended up being mistaken for her _fiancé _by the man she was supposed to be marking."

"Fiancé?" Honey gasped.

A smirk was his answer. "Her partner should have been the one posing for the assignment. I messed it up."

"Oh." The picture was beginning to form beautifully in her mind. Jim, assisting Trixie on her assignment, in the wildly romantic city of Las Vegas. She swallowed back a dreamy sigh, imagining the wonderful the time the two of them must have had together. "I understand. You ended up helping her."

"Fixing the mistake I'd unintentionally made," Jim corrected quickly. "We spent the week together pretending to be engaged while she worked. The pretend engagement helped her cover."

Honey tapped a manicured finger on the table. "What was her assignment? I mean, why would Trixie need to have a fiancé anyway?"

Jim leveled his gaze at her. Would she buy his side-step? He didn't know. "I can't answer those questions, Honey. You know how her job works. Some things are too classified to share. This is one of them. I can't tell you about her assignment." He held his breath.

She didn't see anything beyond his words. After all, Trixie rarely shared anything about her job with any of them. She'd heard classified enough times to understand. "Okay. Since you can't tell me about the assignment, can you at least tell me if you were successful with it?"

He thought back to the conversation they had as they were fleeing the penthouse, their last night in Vegas. _I didn't lose._ While Max and the CDA firmly considered the mission a failure, she most definitely did not. His smile reflected the warm feelings her exact words continued to bring to him. In a reverent voice, he murmured, "We succeeded."

Honey studied him closely. She didn't miss the faraway look to his face, the revealing smile on his lips, and the soft gleam to his eyes. It gave her the most hope she had for the two, even better than the pictures she'd emailed to them a few weeks ago. "There you were, portraying an engaged couple, and staying together in the suite. So…" She looked at him expectantly.

Brought out of his reverie with a uncomfortable jolt, Jim lifted his eyebrows. "Honey. I'm not going to tell you everything. Sometimes, it's better to leave things to your imagination."

"I have a pretty vivid imagination," she warned him through a wide grin.

"And, in this case, it's probably very accurate, too," he added, the closest he was going to get to discussing his love life with his sister. Some things, in his opinion, simply did not need to be revealed.

"Hmm. I see." And she did. Brilliantly. Honey's smile bloomed beautiful and bright. "Since you are obviously embarrassed, we'll skip over most of that part. I do need to know if that's what'd happened right before you intercepted my call for Trixie. I'm correct. Right?" At his curt nod, she settled back, pleased with her deductions. "All right. Good. Tell me about the state of your relationship, then. It's obvious that you two grew a lot closer. What zone are you in now? Friends? Or more?"

More. Oh, my God. Definitely more. In fact, more than he'd ever expected. "I'd have to say that we're well beyond the friend stage," Jim declared. "But…umm…I can't tell you our exact status. We kinda never actually discussed anything like that."

Honey inclined her head to the side. Her eyebrows snapped together. "You had all that time alone and never broached the subject? Seriously? What the hell were you two _doing_?" Her voice went an octave higher on the last word.

"We were rather…um…busy," he said, stumbling over the last word and turning beet red for a third time. God, it seemed like all he'd done since he'd returned to New York was flush. "The subject didn't come up."

Taking pity on him, she made a sympathetic sound. "Is that the reason why you look like you've just lost your best friend?"

He went still. His best friend. So simple. So trite. And so true. "Yes."

The slight widening of her eyes gave away her surprise at his honest and forthright answer. Since he appeared to be open to her prodding, she went one further. "Do you love her? And I don't mean like a friend. I mean…Do. You. Love. Her?" Each word was spoken with great precision and clarity so that he couldn't mistake her meaning.

There was absolutely no hesitation. None at all. It felt damn good to admit it out loud to her. "Yes."

Her smile was instantaneous. Giggling, she jumped off her chair and started jumping up and down in glee. Then she sprinted over to him with the grace of a fleet-footed gazelle. "Oh, Jim! How perfectly perfect! You love Trixie! You love Trixie! How wonderful! You love our Trix!"

Her happiness was contagious; it was so heartfelt and honest. He couldn't help but smile. He rose from his chair, accepted the warm embrace she gave him. "Yes. I love Trixie," he admitted again, the words causing his own smile to spread.

Then her laughter abruptly stopped. "Wait a minute," she said, as she dropped back to her feet, a puzzled expression crossing across her face. "Let's recap, shall we? You're in love with Trixie. You spent a wonderful week together in Vegas. You helped her out with her assignment…"

"And I went back to San Diego with her after we finished up," Jim supplied the newest information, earning another loud gasp of surprise from Honey.

"You went to San Diego? Really? You saw her house?" Impressed, Honey watched him nod his affirmative. "Wow. No one has ever been able to visit her there. Her schedule is too chaotic for that." She opened her mouth, about to give him the third degree, when she stopped herself. "No, I'm not going to go there. I'm not going to get distracted. I mean, there's got to be a big problem here. What is it? It sounds to me like everything between you two should be adding up quite nicely." Her bottom lip bowed out while she attempted to puzzle out the situation. "But it's not. Why isn't it?"

"Trixie was called into work the day after we arrived in San Diego. I haven't seen or talked to her since she left." Jim spoke lowly. "I never had a chance to tell her how I felt. I was blindsided by her sudden departure. Judging from the note she left me, she was taken by surprise, too."

The color slowly drained from Honey's face. Lowly, she connected all of the remaining dots. "That's why you are here, looking like your version of pure hell."

Jim glanced up in supplication at the ceiling. "God. Have you taken deportment classes with Dan? You both know how to shoot down a man's ego."

"Sorry," she apologized sincerely, although she didn't take back her words. She couldn't. "I simply couldn't think of a more polite way to put it."

He let it go. After all, he couldn't argue with the truth. "Well, that's about the gist of it. Trixie's gone somewhere, working on a new assignment. I can't get in touch with her. She can't get in touch with me. That's where we're at. And, yes, that's why I look like hell," he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Wait a minute. Wait just a minute." Honey spun around on the heels of her shoes. "What do you mean? You can't get in touch with her? And she can't get in touch with you? Wait a minute…if you can't, then that means _I_ can't get in touch with her!" She drew in an aggrieved breath and nearly stamped her foot in frustration. "What the hell is all this about?"

It was his turn to calm her down. He spoke in comforting voice, "It's not her fault. Her assignment is serious, Honey. She's not allowed to have contact with anyone. In fact, she left her cell phone back at her agency. She couldn't take it with her. Believe me, I know. I saw it when I went there to find out what happened."

After giving her foot a good stomp, she allowed the news to digest slowly. Biting her bottom lip, she attempted to come up with something positive, witty or encouraging to say. She was left with nothing so she settled for a light touch on his shoulder and a low, irritated, "That sucks."

Her simple phrase, uttered in her soft, classy voice, made him laugh. Man, he loved his sister. She was amazing. "That it does, Honey. That it does."

Not willing to give up the ghost yet, she tugged on his elbow and waited until he was giving her his full attention again before asking, "Will you tell her how you feel when she gets home?"

Jim didn't hesitate. "You'd better believe it. We've wasted too much time, Honey. It's time for us to finally start living. Together."

"Good for you." Pleased, Honey nodded her approval. Thinking about the patriarch and matriarch of their family, who were most definitely awaiting her report, made her clear her suddenly dry throat. "I take it that most of this…information…you shared with me should be classified as confidential and treated as such, correct? That means…parents, husbands, friends?"

"Without a doubt," Jim replied, understanding the ramifications behind her oddly-framed question perfectly. He didn't want to provide too much fodder for the Bob-White gossip mill. "Believe me, I don't want to have to suffer through the third degree again. Twice was enough, thank you very much."

"Twice? What do you mean…oh. Never mind. Dan," she breathed out, realizing their friend must have already gotten to Jim. She hadn't heard from him in awhile. She'd been avoiding him. Truth be told, she'd been rather miffed that Dan hadn't offered any suitable explanations to her after she'd discovered that Trixie was with Jim in Las Vegas. "That's right. He was there, too."

"He beat you to it, Honey," Jim informed her. "Dan showed up on my doorstep, bright and early the morning after I returned to New York."

She accepted the explanation with a little smile. "Well, I'm supposed to go back to Daddy's office when we finish up in here. Mother and Daddy are going to ask me about the state of your mental health, you know," Honey added, smiling apologetically at her brother. "You've got to know that they're worried about you. You haven't exactly been a model employee since you've returned." Just in case he needed the evidence, she helpfully pointed to the mountain of work cheerfully awaiting him on his desk.

"I know," was all he said. He didn't offer any kind of a defense. He didn't have one. Right now, he didn't have much of a focus, either. The corporate world wasn't holding his interest. Neither was the city.

"What do you want me to say?" She bit her bottom lip, curious about his answer and if she could carry it off.

"You can tell them…" He stopped to think, came up with nothing. Damn. He threw a glance around the room, really taking note of it for the first time since he'd been back, and nearly winced. It looked terrible. He generally took more pride in his work than was showing. "Ah. Hell. I don't know what you should tell them."

Tapping her finger against her chin, Honey thought and thought and then nodded. "I'll offer them a little bit of the truth, if you like. You know, just enough so that they'll leave you alone and won't question you. Too much," she tacked on, knowing both their parents well. They'd insist on talking to Jim themselves.

"You'll tell them I miss Trixie," Jim supplied for her.

"Yes. That'll work. I'll say that the free time your vacation offered made you realize exactly how much you really do miss her. Maybe, maybe…Maybe you even went to California to try and find her but she wasn't there." Honey tapped an expensively-shoed toe on the carpet, liking the idea more and more. "Yes. That's it. You tried to find Trixie to tell her how you feel, she wasn't there and, whamm-o, that's the reason why you came back to New York, looking like something the cat dragged in."

"Again, you are definitely not helping my self-esteem." But there was a hint of amusement to his voice when he said it. He couldn't argue with her.

Honey tossed him another apologetic look but then hurried on excitedly, "Oh my goodness. It'll work. It's close to the truth, even though it's not too close, if you know what I mean. Plus they know your past with Trixie. And Mother, at least, knows about the…um…late night tryst they accidentally interrupted the night of my wedding." So caught up in her ramble of words, she didn't see him lift his head or turn a mottled red, proof that he'd never suspected that his mother knew what they'd interrupted that night at the Manor House. "Leave it to me, Jim! They will both respect your privacy enough to leave you alone, especially since they know why you look so wretched right now. I bet Daddy will even stop glowering at the lack of work you're doing now, too. He won't care that you're becoming dead weight. Oh, this is wonderful!"She clapped her hands in delight.

Amazed by her sprawling lecture, he let the newest jibes slide by without any kind of a response. Nothing she said was being offered in malice. If anything, she was offering it all with love. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pulled her in for a gentle hug and whispered, "Thanks, Honey. I appreciate your help." About to add something more, he was interrupted by an insistent ringing of his cell phone. Letting her go, he walked over to it, checked the caller-id and then called out over his shoulder, "Sorry, Honey. I've got to take this. It's really important. It's my contractor. We've been playing phone tag for the past few days. I need to talk to him."

"I understand." She rose on her tiptoes, pressed a sisterly kiss to his cheek, and whispered before he answered the call, "I'll go make my report to our parents. Good luck with your contractor."

She waited until he turned his back and answered his cell. Honey stopped when she made it to the hallway. Looking back, she studied her brother while he started talking into the phone, completely oblivious to her perusal. A dazzling smile radiant in happiness crossed her lips. "Finally," she murmured to herself, excitement shining from the depths of her lovely topaz-colored eyes. "After all this time, it looks like things may finally be put to rights between the two of you. How…extraordinary."

She continued watching him until he walked back to the window. Judging from the crazy arm motions he was making, the conversation between him and his contractor was on the intense side. Oh well. She had what she needed. She wasn't interested enough in the building of his house to waste any energy on eavesdropping. Swallowing back a giddy little giggle, she twirled around on her heels and, with an extra bounce to her step, sailed on down the hallway, eager to meet her parents and share an extremely watered down version about her interrogation of Jim. Since it involved his feelings for Trixie, she knew they'd believe whatever she told them. Even better, they would leave Jim alone, too, and let him meander on down that road he was continuing to rebuild.


	47. Chapter 47

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

_August_

Jim pulled in to join the line of vehicles parked at the Manor House and cut the engine, a humorless chuckle falling from his lips. He was late. To the party. At his own house. Squinting through his dark sunglasses, he made a mental note of the owner of each and every car parked ahead of him. It certainly appeared that he was the very last one to arrive. "Lovely," he muttered sarcastically and climbed out of the SUV. He glanced up at the bright sky, steamingly blue with the early August humidity, and ran a hand through his thick hair. After opening up the rear door, he pulled out a big box wrapped in pretty pink paper, as well as a gift bag with charmingly cheerful zoo animals parading across it. Armed with his gifts, he strode swiftly across the lawn, his long legs moving at a quick clip in an attempt to make up for his tardiness.

He halted at the wide front door, uncertain if he should ring the door bell or just walk right on in. The answer was solved for him before he had to make a choice. The door flew back, allowing a comfortable blast of wonderfully refreshing central air to hit him square in the face. It felt much better than the sticky humidity of the bright outdoors. "Hello, Mom," Jim murmured, ignoring a trickle of sweat as it dripped down his neck.

"Quick, Jim. Get inside before you melt. This heat wave is a killer." Looking exceptional cool and collected in a pretty light green halter dress, complete with a matching sweater, Madeleine greeted him with a brilliant smile on her face. She motioned him inside with a glass of sparkling water and brushed a motherly kiss over his cheek. "I watched you pull up. With this weather we've been having, it seemed much better to wait for you inside the house. I'm glad you could make it. I was starting to get worried."

"Sorry," he apologized, closing the front door behind him. It was much more comfortable inside than out. He had good reason to know. He'd spent the past two hours outside, listening to his contractor rant and rave over the house being built at Ten Acres. He'd stood strong, though. He didn't change his mind or lose his temper. He firmly believed in possibilities, not impossibilities. Even if it meant that his house wasn't going to be finished until October, at the earliest. To him, the extra cost and extra work was worth it. After shrugging a shoulder, he explained, "Something came up. The meeting with my contractor took longer than I expected it to."

"You've certainly had your share of problems with that house of yours." Not expecting an answer, she tucked a hand around his elbow and steered him in the direction of the loud and jovial noise spilling out from the formal living room. "The party is in full swing now. You haven't missed much, Jim."

"Good," he replied, feeling like he needed to say something. Honestly, attending a baby shower wasn't very high up on his list of things he truly wanted to do. He was in good company, too. None of the male Bob-Whites, with the exception of Mart, had been looking forward to the celebration, either. They'd all secretly hoped that the shower would finally become an all-female party but, as the planned day inched closer and closer, they each came to realize how useless a wish it was. Unfortunately for the men, they were most definitely stuck.

"Diana was absolutely shocked." Acting more like a school girl than the society matron she was, Madeleine blushed and giggled at the memory. "She couldn't believe that we were all here for her baby shower. Goodness, she was so sweet. It was really touching, Jim. In fact, she hasn't stopped smiling all afternoon."

"That sounds just like Di." Jim could picture it perfectly in his mind. An astonished Di. A grinning Mart. And all of their families and friends gathered around, clapping, laughing and cheering for them and their baby. He was sorry he missed out on it. Hooking a thumb in the direction of the driveway, he noted, "I counted cars out there. It looks like a full house."

"Everyone's here." Then a thought gave her pause. She stopped, a little wrinkle of worry on her forehead, and nervously tapped a finger against the soft linen of her dress. "Oh. I suppose I should take it back. We are still missing one very important person. No one's bringing her name up, though. I don't think anyone wants to upset any of the Beldens. Or the Bob-Whites, for that matter."

Right there in the center of the hallway, Jim went completely still, pathetically grateful that he was still wearing his sunglasses. He didn't want his mother to be able to see into his eyes. She was too astute. She'd see…everything. "Duly noted," he murmured quietly, his only outward response to the glaringly obvious missing party guest, and tried to brush aside his own worry and disappointment. God, how he wanted her to be there. His voice turned thick. "I won't say a thing."

Wishing he would take the damn sunglasses off already, Madeleine had to settle for reading his body language instead. Rigid. Straight. And uncommonly still. Yeah, he told her more with his posture than he ever could with words. Ignoring the fact that Jim was the last one she should be talking with about the pretty blonde, she leaned in and confided quietly, suddenly feeling safe and secure enough to share her thoughts about Trixie with him, "Everyone's becoming more and more worried about her, you know. Helen told me a few days ago that this is the longest stretch they've ever gone without hearing from her. Peter's just as anxious. They want to talk to their daughter."

"I understand," he responded, his voice becoming lower and hoarser. He could relate to the Beldens. After all, he felt the same way.

"At least Honey was able to tell us that Trixie was out on a prolonged assignment for her private investigative agency and that it required her to leave her cell phone behind." Madeleine continued to carry on the conversation with an innocent expression on her face. Inwardly, her sharp and shrewd eyes were watching her only son, much closer than he realized. She didn't miss a thing. "Of course, Honey reported that to us in June. The whole month of July is completely gone and now we're into the first weekend of August."

"Yeah." His tone was even shorter and more clipped than it had been before. He didn't want to talk about the missing Belden. He wanted more than that. He wanted to see her, talk to her, be with her. To put it plainly, he just wanted…Trixie. Unconsciously, he drew in a deep breath, the knuckles of his one hand turning white as he gripped the sparkly purple handle of the gift bag just a little too tight.

And she had her answer. Her absence was most definitely eating away at her son. Satisfied, Madeleine nodded her head regally. Because she felt buoyed enough to press the matter, she brought up her name. "You haven't heard anything from Trixie." There was the slightest pause before she added, "Have you?"

"No." Short and sweet was the only response he could offer. And true. Damn it all, he hadn't heard a word about Trixie. Everything he knew came from either Heidi or Jocelyn. And what he had learned wouldn't fill up the tiniest of thimbles. Nothing. Consistently nothing. There were times, when he was lying in his bed at his apartment during the long night, staring up at the dark ceiling, making, discarding, and then remaking plans, when he swore he could almost hear her voice, almost touch her soft skin, almost taste her sweet, kissable lips. Dear Lord, it was enough to drive him insane.

"I didn't think so." Inwardly, Madeleine swallowed a sigh. She'd hoped Jim had heard something from Trixie. Everyone was concerned about their absent friend, neighbor or daughter. Reluctantly dropping the subject, she picked up the next one without missing a beat, making excellent use of her time alone with Jim. She wasn't certain when the opportunity would arise again. "Jim. Your father is doing well, by the way. He's happy."

Oh, yeah. He was most definitely grateful for the shaded barrier the dark sunglasses afforded him. At least he had some protection against her shrewd and all-encompassing gaze. His answer was short. "Good."

Madeleine couldn't help but notice his clipped and concise answer. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered near his ear, hoping to soothe away any of his own feelings of guilt or worry he could still be harboring, "Listen to me. You do not need to feel apologetic or contrite. He understands, Jim. He truly does. He only wants your happiness. As do I," she stated, letting him know she was standing firmly behind him.

Jim looked down into the earnest face staring up at him. A slow, almost sad smile crossed his face. He set the package down, used his legs to brace its weight. "I was afraid I'd disappointed him," he shared after a moment, ignoring the continuous waves of laughter and conversation floating back to them from the opened doorway.

"You don't need to be afraid. You didn't disappoint him. As if you ever could," Madeleine declared with a decided sniff and patted him on the shoulder. Speaking in a serene tone, she added, "To tell you the truth, Matthew wasn't shocked, surprised, or disappointed. Believe it or not, he's been expecting your resignation for a while now."

"Really?" Jim's eyebrows winged up in surprise. When she nodded her affirmative, he slowly digested the news. "I told Dad that I'd stay on to help train my replacement."

"And Matthew appreciates your willingness to help with the transition, too." Madeleine tugged his elbow again, effectively ending their conversation; one she deemed a successful one. She'd ferreted out just what she needed. She knew where he stood on Trixie and she'd hopefully set his mind at ease about his resignation from the company. "Come on, Jim. Let's go join the party. You've been missed."

In the span of eight short minutes, his mother had successfully touched on two of the biggest issues currently assaulting him: Trixie and his resignation. There wasn't much he could do about Trixie; he wished he could but, as Heidi and Jocelyn continued to point out to him through each and every text, their collective hands were tied. No matter how much it sucked, the only option they had was to wait for the return of the agents. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was coming from that direction. His father…well, Jim had been afraid he'd hurt his feelings or stomped on his pride by not only refusing to take over the company when the time was right but also by resigning his position, effective once his soon-to-be-hired replacement was successfully trained. Gazing at his serenely smiling mother in astonishment, he shook his head. "You really are amazing."

Well aware of what Jim was referring to, she winked up at him, pleased with her work for the afternoon. Productive, indeed. "Thank you, dear. I think you're pretty special, too." Finally letting go of his arm, she sailed forward and into the baby shower fray, filing the information away to share with her husband when they had a moment alone.

Jim moved much slower. He stopped to admire the pretty pink, purple and yellow streamers decorating the entrance into the formal living room, where the festivities were taken place. He couldn't help but smile. Pivoting around, he finally noticed the rest of decorations. Big, beautiful bunches of balloons in matching colors were clustered around, welcoming the party-goers into the home, a perfect accompaniment to the jubilant ambiance. A gigantic 'Welcome, Baby' banner was covering an expensive oil painting hanging in the hall, most likely taped up by his mother himself. A telling move. It just went to show what the Wheelers appreciated more.

At that moment, Mrs. Lynch poked her head out of the wide entrance to the formal living room. "Ah! There you are, Jim!" Her astute eyes lit up with approval at the package Jim was carrying. She clapped her hands together, reached back in the room for her partner in grandmotherhood, and pulled Helen Belden out of the room. "Look, Helen!" she sang out gleefully, almost jumping up and down in her excitement. "It's the playpen! It's the playpen. It's got to be the playpen! I'm right, aren't I, Jim?"

Not sure if he was more stunned by her accurate guess or her energetic display, Jim eyed Diana's mother carefully. She was obviously in her element, delighted to be one of the hostesses for the event and extremely excited about the imminent arrival of her first grandchild. "Yes," he answered slowly, curious how she was able to guess what his present was. "It is the pack'n'play. The purple one," he swiftly clarified before she could inquire about its color. "I saw it on the registry."

"Excellent!" Mrs. Lynch's smile widened degree by degree. She stepped aside to allow Jim entrance into the room filled to overflowing with practically everyone that they knew.

"You can put it over there," Helen instructed him, pointing to a table groaning under the weight of the many presents stacked upon it. She followed him over and whispered laughingly, "She's been shockingly accurate at guessing the identity of each and every present. It's uncanny."

"I'm surprised she didn't take a shot on the items in here." He shook the gift bag after leaning the wrapped playpen up against the wall.

"She didn't need to. She knows what you have inside." Giggling, Helen shook her head, making her own curls dance. Her blue eyes glittered with mirth as a set of charming dimples winked on each side of her luminous smile.

For the briefest of moments, Jim saw Trixie in her. His next breath was jaggedly painful. He let it out as slow as he could and nodded since he wasn't able to formulate an answer right now. How he missed Trixie. Moving through each day was proving to be harder and harder. At least he had the house to focus on; his work to wrap up. A future to attempt to plan. Day by day was truly how he was moving right now.

A beer in his hand, something he felt he needed to get through the afternoon, Peter appeared almost out of thin air. He wrapped his free arm around his wife's waist, overlooked the suddenly wistful expression on Jim's face with only a minor amount of curiosity that was quickly squashed, and gave a smart tilt to his head. A touch of sardonic humor tinged his voice as he addressed Jim. "Tardy, are we?"

After placing the gift bag with the others, Jim slipped off his sunglasses and tucked them along the neckline of his shirt, all the while trying to find the proper words to respond to Peter's quietly insulting question. There was something about Peter Belden that always put him on the defensive. It was even worse now that he knew that the man sneering at him was his father-in-law. His green eyes sharpened while he imagined what the banker would say about that little tidbit. It would be…memorable, of that he was sure. Helen, he instinctively knew, would be much more accepting. Content with taking the much easier high road, he nodded his head once and admitted with a tiny smile, "Apparently."

Enjoying putting the man on the spot he so rightly deserved, at least in his opinion, Peter allowed a mile-wide, toothy grin to cross his handsome face, inwardly irritated that Jim hadn't taken the bait. While his words were conciliatory, the way he offered them was not. "Ah. I understand. Had some trouble finding your way home, huh?"

Okay, it was harder than he expected not to react when it was so obvious that Peter was prodding at him, in an effort to get him to lose his cool. "Not really," Jim replied as smoothly as possible, swallowing back a chuckle when Helen not-so-subtly stomped on her husband's foot. Like mother, like daughter, he thought with an inward chuckle. Because of it, he offered more than he would have normally done so, especially when conversing with Peter Belden. "I had a meeting with my contractor up at Ten Acres. We had a lot to discuss. Unfortunately, it ran later than I expected it to."

Helen aimed an irritated glare at her husband before pinning on a smile for Jim. "There's no need to explain, Jim. We're just happy you were able to come. _All _of us are happy," she stressed, for her husband's benefit.

Because he was being so politely and, more importantly, wifely put in his place, Peter took a big pull from his beer and shared, "Yeah. We're all just plain ecstatic you're here. And that you're going to be our permanent neighbor."

His tone said it all. Helen jabbed him in the stomach. Turning back to Jim, she gestured to the other side of the room. "Refreshments are over there. We made sure to fully stock the drinks." Leaning toward Jim, she suggested in a loud stage whisper, "You may want the stronger stuff."

Her suggestion, offered to him while her husband was in listening distance, made him laugh, swinging more than a few heads in their direction. His laugh only deepened when he noticed the pained scowl crawl across Peter's face. It wasn't often that he came out on top when dealing with the banker. Feeling more lighthearted than he'd expected to, he grinned with sincere appreciation at Helen. "Thanks, Mrs. Belden. I'll remember that."

He nearly whistled as he started towards the large group gathered around a radiant Diana Lynch Belden and her equally happy husband. He took it all in, finally understanding the grandmothers-to-be need to include the men at the fancy affair. It was right, to have all the family together, to have them all there to welcome and support the parents-to-be and their impending arrival. He smiled softly down at Diana, gave a quick nod to Mart. "Sorry I'm late."

"No worries, Jim! I'd hug you but it's a little too hard for me to get up right now." Diana beamed up at him, a hand residing on her wide belly. She looked absolutely adorable in her purple maternity dress with matching slip-on shoes. "I'm much too comfortable right here."

"My meeting took longer than I thought," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Giggling, Di waved an airy hand. "Honey told me you might be a little late…right after I was surprised by this wonderful party, of course!"

Mart draped an arm over his wife's shoulder, pleased that Di hadn't seen the baby shower coming. Somehow, he'd managed to pull off the impossible. He'd surprised his extremely intuitive wife. He highly doubted if he'd ever be able to do it again. "Yep. All of us managed to pull one over on this totally gorgeous mommy-to-be right here."

She aimed an admiring glance at her husband, the exact same look she'd been giving him since she was thirteen years old. "He's right. I was so surprised. I was expecting a summer barbeque at the Wheelers, you know," she informed Jim with another blissful giggle.

"Glad the excuse worked." Jim winked proudly at her. "I came up with it. It was the only way we could come up with to explain away everyone's cars out in the driveway."

"Well, it was wonderful!" Delighted with the day, feeling wonderfully jubilant about the shower given in her baby's honor, Di blushed a pretty pink of pure happiness. She glanced over at the presents, practically licking her lips. God, she was so impatient to rip into them. She blamed it on the maternal hormones rampaging through her body. She could never remember being so impatient before. Part of her wondered how she was ever going to make it until her due date in October. It was two months away. "To tell you the truth, I can't wait to open the gifts. It's going to be so much fun playing with the little baby things!"

When Mrs. Lynch approached them with a heaping plate of snacks to feed both the baby and her mama, Jim slowly faded back into the background. He skirted around a cheerfully chatting Miss Trask and Mr. Maypenny, tried to ignore the passionate looks Bobby Belden and Whitney Lynch were exchanging with each other, carefully bypassed his sister and her husband who were now engaged in a conversation with Peter Belden, who somehow managed to take the time to aim another killing glare his way, and found the refreshment table piled with delicious delights. Since he wasn't in the mood for food, he skipped the snacks and took Helen's advice.

"Not hungry, huh?" Mart asked out of nowhere after appearing at his side. He dipped a shrimp in a delicious sauce and quickly stuffed the delicacy into his mouth.

Jim half-turned and hid his surprise. He hadn't heard Mart following him. "Thirsty. I spent a good two hours out in the heat."

Mart grabbed a plate and started filling it up with a little bit of everything. In his opinion, the spread was a magnificent one and every single option needed to be tested and retested, just to be sure that it was worthy of consumption. "Ten Acres?" he asked through a mouthful of cheese.

"Yeah. We're in pretty good shape now." His emerald eyes narrowed as he remembered the latest conversation with his contractor. The final cost was going to be a lot more than he'd originally expected but the house was going to be finished, exactly the way he wanted it to be. The price tag didn't matter. The house did.

"Good. It'll be awesome to have another Bob-White in the area. The more babysitters, the better." Mart moved away from the table after Bobby and Whitney closed in on it. He shuffled off to the side, his plate filled to overflowing. "When are you moving in?"

"Looks like October now." Jim lifted a shoulder. He unscrewed the top of his bottle, took a refreshing sip, and continued, "It's not bad, though. We won't be as far off schedule as we could have been."

"Meaning you're paying twice what you should be," Mart put in with a meaningful snort.

Jim didn't deny it. He couldn't; it was true. He didn't regret it. Especially since the changes to the original building plans were all coming from him. His contractor was merely the lackey who was charged with making his vision happen. An extremely well-paid lackey. Changing the subject, he swept a hand over the room. "The place looks great. Our mothers did a wonderful job."

"You can't stop them. They are quite the tremendous trio when a shindig needs planning, no matter how big or how small." After nearly losing his grip on his overly full plate, Mart reverently placed it on a little decorative table. He dipped a chip in some of the delicious homemade salsa. Through a mouthful, he noted, "Everyone was able to come, too. Having the whole crew here means a lot to Di and me."

Jim's eyes lost a little of their brightness. "Not everyone," he murmured lowly, frowning down into the vegetable dip.

Mart's eyebrows shot up. The chip fell from his fingers. Luckily it landed on his plate instead of the gorgeous and extremely well-maintained carpet at his feet. "Good God. I can't believe out of everyone here that _you_ of all people are the one bringing Trixie up," came out of his mouth before he could prevent it.

His mother's words from twenty minutes ago floated through his mind. Staring down at the vegetable platter, he concentrated on naming all of the fresh vegetables before lifting his head. Softly, he admitted, "You know everyone here's thinking about her. And missing her."

Mart watched Jim closely. The redhead wasn't flushing. He didn't appear to be embarrassed or aggravated or uncomfortable. No, he was…calm. Comfortable. Open. Odd. Very odd. Jim usually wasn't so relaxed when the subject of Trixie came up. Food for thought. "You're right. I miss her," he said slowly, watching Jim with an open directness Trixie herself would have admired. "A lot of people do."

Jim surprised him further. Ignoring the low hum of the many conversations swirling around them, he shared without hesitation, "I'm one of them, too. I miss her."

The simple admission silenced Mart. He could do nothing but gape in astonishment at his friend, hardly daring to believe what he'd just heard. His mouth hung open before he remembered to close it with an audible click. "Ahh…" Scrambling for something to say, Mart admitted, "I almost bought a present for the baby when I was out shopping the other day. I was going to wrap it up, bring it here ahead of time, and sign the card with Trixie's name."

"Yeah. I had the same thought." And he had. The idea hit him when he'd been in the store, buying a few cute little outfits for the baby. But, just as quickly as the idea had come to him, he'd discarded it. It wouldn't have been right; not for Trixie, not for her family, and definitely not for the Bob-Whites.

"Why didn't you?" Mart tilted his head to the side, his legendary appetite momentarily on hold.

Jim lifted a single shoulder. The answer was simple. "It's easy. People would have wondered why she'd sent a present instead of coming to the party herself. She wouldn't want that. She'd rather give you and Di the present herself, not have it sent over from somewhere else. She would definitely hate to have everyone's hopes lifted and then dashed."

"Exactly what I thought." It was the conclusion he'd drawn, and the reason why he hadn't gone forth with his plan. A light frown settled on his forehead. All food forgotten, he aimed a quizzical stare at Jim. "You've got to answer me something here. When, exactly, did you become so..." He stopped to search his superior word bank but nothing seemed to suffice. Finally, he settled on the simplest of words, "Normal about anything concerning Trixie? I mean, you two usually avoid each other like the plague. In fact, you excelled at it. It could practically be an Olympic sport. I've never heard either one of you voluntarily bring up the other one, in any kind of a conversation, ever since she moved away. What gives? And, more importantly, when did it start giving?"

The look on Mart's face was comical. Jim nearly laughed. The answer was so obvious. It happened when they spent a week together in Vegas. When they let their guard down. When they finally reconnected, in every which way a man and a woman possibly could. A light, knowing smile tugged at his mouth. Jim kept the thoughts and cherished memories to himself. He merely shrugged again and took another sip of his bottle. "It's useless to live in the past, Mart."

"I…um…huh." Left speechless, Mart could do nothing but gape at his friend.

Jim caught Mrs. Lynch waving her hands in an attempt to flag down the father of the moment. Taking pity on the stunned man, he helpfully turned him around and pointed him in the direction of his mother-in-law. "Hey, Mart. Looks like you're being paged."

Shaking off his incredulity, Mart waved back in acknowledgement. "Don't think I'm going to forget this, Jim," he warned in a low undertone. "She's my sister, you know."

"Go spend some time with your gorgeous wife." Jim gave Mart a push in the right direction. Feeling at ease with the entire situation, he sauntered over to an unoccupied corner of the room, willing to turn himself into a wallflower for the moment, and took a long sip, all the while remembering the look of pure and utter shock on Mart's face. He couldn't help but wonder what Mart Belden would think if he knew that he wasn't the only one with a gorgeous wife.

"There you are." Dan called out from the large wing chair he was relaxing in. He'd been hanging out by himself in the corner, content to watch the goings-on of the party. He'd almost given up his prime spot when Jim had entered the room but it had been simply too comfortable. The chance to question the newest arrival would come. He hadn't expected Jim to cooperate so nicely and actually come over to him. Smirking, he took a swig from his own bottle. "Good to see you."

"Hey." Jim nodded before glancing around for a place to sit.

Dan played with the clothespin clipped to the bottom of his shirt before saying sardonically, "I see you managed to avoid one of these. It must pay to be a late arrival."

"What's it for?" Settling on an overly stuffed ottoman, Jim rolled it back against the wall and sat down, giving him an awesome view of the entire party. With the glowering looks Peter was occasionally throwing his way, he appreciated having the wall at his back. It seemed much safer for his health.

"It's part of one of the games." Dan briefly considered unhooking his and hiding it in the large Fica tree next to him. But that didn't appear to be too sportsmanlike of him. Plus it would tick Di off if she found out about it. And that would annoy Mart. While he didn't mind annoying Mart, he had no desire to upset a pregnant woman. Reluctantly, he sighed and left the clothespin alone. He pointed with his bottle. "You see that other table over there, in the corner opposite us?"

Jim followed Dan's bottle. The table didn't seem sinister. It was covered with baskets and lotions and some other items he couldn't identify from such a long distance. "What of it?"

"It's the present table…for the guests, you understand," Dan clarified with a shake of his head. "Mrs. Lynch has planned a series of baby shower games for all of us. Whoever wins a game gets to pick a prize from over there."

A teasing voice floated through his mind, bringing back a memory of a conversation he'd had with Trixie during their unforgettable Vegas adventure. Happiness flickered within the depths of the emerald of his eyes. He could hear her voice perfectly, joking with him about the party games at the baby shower, right after she'd accidentally intercepted his call from Mart. Hell, it was a good memory; a great one, as were the many memories they made together during that one amazing, astonishing, and astounding week together. The week that changed his soul. When he caught Dan staring at him, he cleared his throat and muttered, "What about the clothespin?"

Dan didn't say anything. He recognized the expression on Jim's face. Only one person could put it there. "The object of this game is to collect the most clothespins that you can. You get one whenever someone says a certain word. You know what the word is, right? Well, if you don't, I'll tell you." Leaning closer, appearing like he was sharing the most important government secret ever, he pitched his deep voice low so no one else could hear him and whispered it, "Baby."

Startled, Jim gave a sharp bark of laughter, causing more than a few people to glance in their direction. "Got it."

"It's good to hear you laugh again, man," Dan remarked after a moment of thoughtful reflection. "It's a sound we haven't heard in a long time."

"I've got a few things going in the right direction. Finally," he mumbled as an afterthought.

"Honey told us about your resignation when we got here." Since his bottle was becoming such a useful tool, he used it again to gesture towards Matthew Wheeler, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Peter, Regan and Mr. Lynch. The four were now huddled around the refreshment table, enjoying the unending trays of snacks provided for the event. "I must say your dad seems to be taking it well."

"That's what my mother said." The news, coming from the most observant of observers, eased some more of his guilt. "It'll be an adjustment. But it's the right choice for me."

"Tell me about it," Dan mumbled so lowly Jim didn't quite hear him. In his opinion, he could never fully understand why Jim had settled on law in the first place. And then to take it one step further and make it corporate law. Well, he amended with a little lift of his eyebrows, he understood the circumstances that had propelled Jim into it. He'd just never understood the why of it. It was such a drastic change from his original plans.

Jim returned Honey's cheerful wave, tried not to get caught in another scowl Peter was sending his way, and took another sip of his beer before volunteering, "My resignation doesn't take effect for awhile. I'm staying on long enough to finish as much of my work as I can. I also volunteered to train my replacement, too."

Dan considered the information, made a quick mental calculation in his mind. "Sounds like you've got about a month left of work, right?"

"Six to eight weeks, actually," Jim corrected with his lopsided grin. "It all depends on how fast human resources can find someone to fill my shoes. If all goes well, I should be done the last week of September."

_If all goes well._ The phrase told Dan more than he needed to know. After studying his friend carefully, he noted, "You seem…content about it."

"Yeah. I am. It's the right thing to do. I know it. I can feel it." Jim glanced off into the distance, seeing something that only he could see. God, it was so damn real to him he could almost touch it. It was just too damn elusive. Swallowing a sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I've been pushing myself for such a long time."

"You just noticed that?" Dan munched on a handful of potato chips and sneered at his friend.

Leaning back against the wall, Jim spread out his long legs, grateful for the extra space, and made himself comfortable. In a quiet voice, he admitted, "Yeah. And in the wrong direction. I finally decided it was time to give myself a push in the right one."

"It's not exactly the correct venue to talk about the 'right one'," Dan noted with a cheeky half-grin. There wasn't any reason to bring up her name. It was so clearer than clear who he was referring to. "Any word on that particular subject, by the way?"

"None," Jim answered lowly, some of his good humor evaporating away. It was the same answer he'd given Dan every time the subject was broached. How he wished he had a different answer to give…a positive answer, with positive results.

"Well." Dan released a small expulsion of breath, letting the information sink in slowly. It wasn't that he was surprised; not exactly. She'd have been there if she'd returned from her mission. It was just…frustrating as hell not hearing from her or about her, especially for months on end. Because it wasn't the right place to discuss it in depth, he cleared his throat and changed directions, "Since you're thinking that the end of September is going to be your curtain call, what are your plans for when October first rolls around?"

There were ideas, inklings, a few of them, actually, but Jim wasn't ready to share any of them yet. All were in the embryonic stage. "Believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to being jobless for a while."

His obsidian eyes went wide. Dan released a low, appreciative whistle, impressed with his friend. "Whoa, baby. Those are words I never thought to hear Jim Frayne say."

As if just waiting for such an opportunity, a shadow pounced on them. "I heard that!" Brian called out triumphantly. He slipped off his clothespin, quickly pinned it to the bottom of Dan's shirt, gleefully overlooking the other man's yelp of surprise. Winking playfully at Jim, he added, "Didn't he just say the infamous word?"

"Yeah. But aren't you supposed to take his?" Jim stared at Brian, confused.

"Oh, no," Brian disagreed with a wide, satisfied smile. It wasn't often that he could get the better of Daniel Mangan. He was willing to cherish the moment. "The women don't know it but the men got together right after they pinned us and changed the rules. We wanted to make it more sporting. We're not taking anyone's pin. We're giving ours away any time we hear someone say…" Brian purposefully didn't utter the word. His grin could only be termed wicked.

Dan glared down at the two clothespins on his shirt and released an impressive string of curses. Having to wear one was bad enough…but two? He sent a defiant look around the room, hoping none of the women saw it. If they did, they might think he actually wanted to win one of the girly looking prizes over on the gift table, which was exactly the reason why the men had changed the rules to begin with. His gaze immediately landed on an unsuspecting Mart. Thinking he'd found someone he could pawn his two clothespins off on, and quickly, he mumbled a disgruntled farewell and unfolded his long limbs from the chair. There was sense of purpose in his steps as he slinked his way towards his unsuspecting prey.

Understanding Dan's objective completely, Jim turned to Brian with a low chortle of glee. "I think Mart is going to own three of those ba…" Even though he didn't have a clothespin, he swiftly corrected himself, "Clothespins soon."

"Better him than me," Brian declared cheerfully, watching with barely concealed amusement as Dan artfully inserted himself into the conversation Mart was currently sharing with Regan and Mr. Maypenny. Oh, it was a definite. His brother would end up with quite a collection by the time Dan was finished with him. "Mart's a good pick, though. He'll be a good sport about it. Plus he'll let Di pick the prize."

"Look. My father is joining the fray now." Entertained, Jim started chuckling again. It seemed as if all the men were gravitating in the same direction now that a clear victim had been chosen.

"And so is mine. They must have been waiting for just such a moment." Pleased with himself for putting the game in motion, at least the male version of it, Brian took Dan's recently vacated chair without a single regret. Glad to have the day off from work, he closed his eyes and said, "I hear congratulations are in order."

Jim started. For a moment he wondered if Brian was congratulating him on something else. He cocked his head to the side and wondered aloud, "For?"

"The change in your job status." Brian reached for Dan's unfinished plate and helped himself to some of the leftover chips and missed the relieved expression flitter across Jim's face.

"Thanks, man. Looking back, I can honestly say that it's been a long time coming." Jim blew out a low breath. He didn't want anyone else finding out about his marriage; not before he had the chance to tell Trixie first.

Only about seven years. Brian kept the thought to himself. One subject he never brought up with Jim was his sister. Thinking of her, he couldn't help but send a sweeping glance around the room, quickly categorizing all the wonderful family and friends within. Her absence was so conspicuous. It always was when she wasn't able to attend a family event, which was all too frequently for his liking. Although no one discussed it, they all felt it deeply. It was even worse because no one had heard from her for so long. "Any plans?"

"I'm focusing on my house first," Jim answered truthfully, wondering if he should just make a tape and play it over and over and over again. It would save him a lot of time. "Then I'll see what happens."

"It's hard to believe that you, Jim Frayne, the man who always has a plan, doesn't have one now." Brian slowly shook his head in disbelief. "Seriously. What the hell is this world coming to?"

"Nothing's wrong with the world. I'm finally righting a few things in mine." He'd known there would be a lot of questions, a lot of poking, a lot of prodding once everyone learned about his resignation from his family's company. What he hadn't counted on was how easy it was for him to answer them. He didn't feel exposed or defensive. If anything, he felt…liberated. And that was the best answer he could ask for. "That's all."

"Good for you." Brian meant it. He smiled towards his mother, who was clustered together with Madeleine and Mrs. Lynch. They were obviously discussing the upcoming baby and were completely oblivious to poor Mart's plight, who was now staring in chagrin at the seven clothespins clipped to the bottom of his shirt. "Di's mom is so excited about the baby. She can't wait to get her hands on the new addition."

"End of October, right?" Jim recalled accurately.

"Yeah. Your mother is starting to make cooing noises towards my wife, too." Nervously, he ran a hand over his dark hair. The pressure was starting to come, slowly but surely, just as he knew it would. He was certain it was only going to increase, especially after the newest Belden made her grand appearance in a few short months. A lot of people had definite ideas about increasing the amount of babies in their neck of the woods. Obviously, one was not enough.

"So, we'll be doing this again next year, huh?" Jim couldn't help it. He grinned mischievously at his friend.

Brian visibly paled underneath his summer tan. "Wait…what?" he stammered out, holding his hands up.

Taking pity on a startled Brian, Jim swallowed back a chortle and inquired about the Belden family pet. "How's Reddy doing? I ran into Bobby about a week ago while I was out in the preserve. I was riding Jupiter. I…well, I don't know exactly what the youngest Belden was doing. In fact, I don't think I want to know."

"Probably meeting up with Whitney," Brian said under his breath, eyeing the couple closely. They were clearly inseparable.

"Probably." Jim shook his head, not even wanting to consider the implications of what the young couple out in the preserve, alone, could mean. It was hard enough reconciling the fact that Bobby was no longer a rollicking six-year old, full of vinegar and spice. He didn't want to contemplate a Bobby old enough to have a romantic life. "Anyway, he told me that the old boy is losing some of his famous pep."

"He has his good days." Brian neatly sidestepped the question. Although he was a doctor, he never liked discussing the frailties of a loved one. Reddy was most certainly a loved and cherished member of their family. He could still remember how adorably rambunctious the Irish Setter was as a puppy, what a good and loyal friend he was to all of them. He didn't want to consider the inevitable.

"Good." Jim heard the finality in Brian's voice, proof that he didn't wish to discuss the subject. He downed the rest of his beer, looked out across the room. A motion drew his attention. "Hmm. Would you look at that. I think Honey's waving the lot of us toward the dining room."

"Cake time!" Brian exclaimed. Sounding more like Mart, he began a play-by-play description of the cake. "Your cook really outdid herself. It's got three tiers. Two tiers are chocolate; one is white. It's decorated with little purple and white violets all over it. I'm telling you, it's going to be a crime to eat this cake. It's a work of art."

"Somehow, that's fitting when the guest of honor is an assistant curator at an art museum." Jim offered Brian a two-fingered salute and slowly stood up. He hung back as the room cleared out, smiling and nodding at the others as they passed near him. Feeling eyes upon him, he glanced up. It seemed like another redhead had the same idea. Suddenly nervous, he stuck his hands into the front pockets of his cargo shorts and waited for the last of the guests to clear the room. "Hey, Dad," he mumbled lowly, finding the intricate tapestry pattern on the nearby chair interesting.

"Hey, yourself." It was about time his son talked to him. He'd been watching his son all afternoon. Jim, it seemed, had been more content to talk to everyone in attendance but him. He knew. He'd kept track of the number of Jim's conversations. "How'd your meeting go?"

"As well as can be expected." Jim lifted his head slightly. This time, he stared at the pretty arrangements of daisies in a chunky Waterford vase. "My contractor officially hates me now. He told me so."

"He's not in favor of all the changes," Matthew correctly inferred, thinking it was progress that Jim was finally conversing with him.

"Not really. But it doesn't matter. It's not his house. It's mine." The end result more than justified the means. His skin was thick enough to not let the unpleasant comments from his contractor penetrate it, no matter how inventively they'd been offered to him. The bottom line was that the job would get done, and it would be done extremely well. He didn't care if the contractor liked him or not.

"If you're in need of a job, you can always come back." Watching through astute eyes, Matthew let out a sharp bark of laughter, hopefully introducing the subject and laying it to rest all at the same time.

For the first time all afternoon, Jim looked his father directly in the face. And for the first time, he truly understood and believed what his mother had told him. His father wasn't holding a grudge. His father wasn't disappointed. In fact, he was willing to support him, just like he'd always been willing to do. No matter what. One set of weights lifted off of him. The ends of his mouth curled up. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that, Jim." His voice went gruff when he added, "You can stop avoiding me, too, both here and at the office. Life's too short." Matthew clapped a hand on his son's shoulder and pushed him forward.

Jim was propelled into the dessert room before he could answer his father. Unceremoniously and without a chance to catch himself, he bumped into the nearest object. And not just any object. A human one. "Sorry," he mumbled, a flush smearing his face. The red deepened the second he saw who he'd been bumped into.

In a move so reminiscent of his only daughter's, Peter Belden rolled his eyes and let out a loud, undignified snort. He put his fork down on his plate with a quietly imposing click. It took a full ten seconds before he offered, "Given the spirit of the day, I'll accept your apology."

Absently, Jim accepted the plate of cake someone pushed into his hands. Brian was right. It really looked delicious. But he wasn't hungry for it. At least, not yet. With the recent conversations he'd shared with both Dan and his father running through his mind, he laid his cake down on a nearby table and turned to face Peter. He kept his gaze level, his voice even. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation when he declared, "Mr. Belden. A few months ago you asked me a question."

Peter's hand halted. With the fork suspended in mid-air, he narrowed his eyes at Jim, a dark frown wrinkling his forehead. A furtive glance around the room told him all he needed to know. There was too much activity in the room, too many conversations swirling around for his wife to hear this one. Taking advantage of the crowded situation, he let the sneer roll out of his mouth and into his words. "That's funny, Frayne. I don't seem to remember asking you a damn thing."

"You did." Feeling like he was finally in charge of the situation, Jim took a small step forward. His voice may have been quiet but there was steel as strong as a sword's blade residing underneath it. "At the rehearsal dinner. Remember?"

A look that could only be termed infuriated crossed Peter's face before he resolutely smoothed it away. It wouldn't do to show too much. "Yes. I remember the question," he hissed out. Oh, how he did. That stupid bet. Helen and Trixie had partaken in it, to see which man would give in first and leave the other one at the bar. He'd finally won, after asking Jim a certain question that wasn't only impertinent, it was downright rude and intentionally cruel of him to ask. He'd known it at the time but hadn't been able to resist. He'd wanted his woman to win, after all. "Damn it, Frayne. I remember it."

His father was right. Life was short. And it was about time he took control of his. Laying a new foundation with her father was a definite way to start. "I'm ready to give you an answer." He paused before adding evenly, "That is, if you are ready to hear the answer."

How could he ignore a challenge like that? Peter jabbed his fork back into the thick slice of cake that no longer looked appetizing. Painting what an extremely positive person might term a smile on his face since Helen was now frowning in his direction, he let out a soft growl and demanded through clenched teeth, "I'm listening. Get on with it."

Jim didn't flinch. He didn't cheer. He didn't gloat. He could have, especially after the pile of hostility Peter had so gleefully tossed his way over the past seven years. He chose not to. It was time to forge ahead, to begin a new path. The only way to do it was with the truth. He declared with finality, the truth of it shining deep from his eyes and ringing out in his tone, "Yes. It's yes. It's always been yes. It always will be yes."

Peter dropped his plate on the table. He ignored the loud clunk the precious china made. After staring at Jim for an endless minute and, without so much as making any kind of an articulate reply, he released a low groan and pivoted on his feet. This time, he was the one to stalk away. The answer didn't sit well on his broad shoulders.

It felt good, damn good, not only to tell her father the truth but also to hopefully start the process of burying the hatchet or, in this case, the ax, between them. Jim forked a piece of cake into his mouth, told the people nearest him how good it was, and watched the room, immensely pleased with himself. So many pieces were falling into place for him. His father wasn't angry with him. Both his parents were supportive of his decision to leave the family company. He would be relocating to Ten Acres at some point in the not-too-distant future. He even came to an understanding of some sort with his…and here he stopped to chuckle, earning a confused glance from his sister, who didn't have a clue why her brother was laughing to himself…father-in-law. All he was missing was the one person who mattered the most to him. Just thinking of her made his chuckles die a slow and painful death. And he was missing her. _Missing her?_ What an understatement. He wasn't merely missing her. Hell, he needed her.


	48. Chapter 48

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

_A Late October Evening_

The smell of freshly-stained wood hung thickly in the air. After swiping a grimy hand over his forehead, he rolled first one shoulder, then the other in an attempt to free the kinks caused by the back-breaking, painstaking work. With a loud groan, he unfolded his long body from the floor and stood up, his joints creaking in protest. The thin brush fell on the crumpled drop cloth at his feet. Through squinted eyes he admired his handiwork. All looked well. Just like in the other rooms upstairs, there wasn't a single spot he missed. More than ready for a break, he turned off the old radio, effectively cutting off the uniquely cool vocals of Freddie Mercury and the rest of his band mates from Queen as they neared the crescendo for Bohemian Rhapsody, and headed towards the staircase, his feet echoing through the imposingly silent house.

With one hand gripping the railing, he tossed a curious glance back over his shoulder to study his progress once more. The upstairs was coming along nicely…and, thanks to his amazing work ethic, extremely quickly, too. The detail work was nearly completed. There was only one last bedroom for him to finish. After his well-deserved break. His stomach rumbled, letting him know that he'd forgotten to eat. Again. Absently, he rubbed it while mentally compiling the rest of his to-do list. It was much shorter than it had been a few days earlier. Finish the staining in the last bedroom, finish the painting, and then all he had left to do was furnish most of the house. So far only one room on the top floor owned any furniture: the master bedroom. Downstairs wasn't much better. His office was the only room in pretty good shape. The living room wasn't horrible. At least it held a few sticks of furniture. Nothing he'd want published in _Better Homes and Gardens _but…it suited him and his needs. For now. "No need to rush it," Jim muttered, his deep voice reverberating off the unadorned walls, uncaring that he was talking to himself. He truly didn't see any hurry. Considering his new unemployment status, he had all the time he needed to finish it.

Thoughts of time reminded him how it kept evaporating, seemingly into thin air. Sighing, he pulled out his cell, just to check and see what the actual time it was. The sight that met his eyes caused him to grunt. Loudly. 5:34 in the evening. By his calculations, he'd been working steadily since the early morning hours. God, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd taken a break. It left him feeling slightly dazed. Or maybe that was the hunger calling. Time was turning into a slippery eel on him. It managed to slip and slide right past him, again and again, and without any warning.

His recently installed doorbell let out a series of chipper dings, calling an abrupt halt to his meandering train of thoughts. He pounded down the stairs, completely ignorant of the sight that met his eyes. The staircase opened up into what could become a charming and inviting space…if it was decorated correctly. So far, only an old television, two ragged armchairs he'd brought over from the attic at the Manor House, and a beat-up looking end table adorned the place. Not exactly the epitome of high society. He certainly didn't consider the bedding in the corner part of the décor. But, considering he'd only moved in three days ago, it was acceptable enough. As far as he was concerned, he could buy all the furnishings he needed at a later date.

The doorbell peeled again. Even though it was the same tune, it somehow sounded more insistent this time. Or maybe it seemed that way because a demanding fist pounding on the door accompanied it. Jim inwardly rolled his eyes as he crossed the large space and moved into the entry way. Plastering a grin on his face, he threw back the thick door and chimed out with as much good cheer as he could muster, "Welcome to Ten Acres."

His hand was caught in the act of readying to pound on the door again. Letting it fall to his side, Dan arched a single eyebrow and gave his disheveled friend a thorough once-over. Letting out a long, low whistle, he said, tongue totally tucked into his cheek, "Whoo-ee. Lookin' good there, Frayne."

Jim started. A rueful glance at his shirt showed him why Dan was trying hard not to laugh…and not succeeding. He swallowed back an inward groan. For the first time he noticed the stains and the tears. His jeans were equally scruffy. God, how long had he been wearing the same clothes? Two days? Three? He actually couldn't recall taking the time to change, let alone shower. Frustrated with himself, he ran a hand over his cheek, felt the thick stubble of at least four days' worth of fresh beard, and chuckled feebly. "Thanks."

Adding further insult to injury, Dan leaned over, sniffed the air experimentally, and made a comical face. He batted a hand in front of his nose. It wasn't entirely in feigned disgust, either. "Good God, man. You smell the way you look."

Turning abruptly on his heels, Jim didn't invite his guest in. Waving an absent hand which Dan could take either as an invitation or a farewell, he grumbled lowly, "I'm going upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes. I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"A little too late for that," Dan retorted with a wide, amused smile on his lips. Sniggering, he let himself in, closed the door carefully behind him and listened as Jim's footsteps rapidly faded away. He slowly pivoted around, taking in the fresh craftsmanship of the entry way. "Now this is really looking good," he declared aloud, touching the low panel of wainscoting on the wall. Exactly as he'd expected, the work inside matched the outside perfectly. Well done. Extremely well done. Privy to the amount of money Jim had to shell out for it, especially to have it completed in the exact way he wanted it done and as close to his original time schedule as possible, Dan nodded his head with deep appreciation. All the headaches, as well as the extreme hit Jim's bank account had taken, had definitely been worth it. Open with the potential of being warm, friendly and charming. He ran a finger along the edge of the wall, his tanned hand showing out against the comfortably cream paint that was only a few days old.

Since he was left to his own devices, Dan didn't see any harm in poking his nose into every nook and cranny of the downstairs. The entry way opened up into the large living room. He took a long moment to peruse it, chuckled a little at the appalling lack of furniture. "Not too bad, all in all," he noted, talking to himself again. "It's got some serious promise. If Jim ever decides to actually furnish it."

After unzipping his deep brown jacket, he draped it over one of the chairs, covering up a threadbare spot. Wanting to see what the rest of the house held, he turned and then did an amusing double-take. He actually rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was seeing things. But it stayed, even after his sight returned to normal. There, right there in the corner, was something he'd never expected to find in the large living room. A mattress. A huge one, in fact; one he correctly identified as fitting a king-size bed. Interested, he headed over for a closer inspection and, just as he expected to find, it truly was a mattress. Residing on top of a thick box spring. He nudged the end of it with his toe, wondering why the hell Jim would have a mattress…and not only a mattress, but a fully made up one at that, lying in the corner of his sparse living room. It seemed like such a peculiar article of furniture to find in the downstairs. Judging by the thick pillows and charming country-style coverlet adoring it, it was obviously where Mr. Frayne was sleeping away the nights, too. That is, if the man remembered to make time for sleep. Dan wasn't too sure about that. "Strange," he mumbled lowly, perplexed.

Stuffing his hands deep into the pocket of his black jeans, his booted feet brought him out of the room while his creative mind conjured up different ways of teasing Jim about the mattress. He was halfway down the hall when it dawned on him that nothing decorated the walls as of yet; not that he could truly blame Jim. He'd only been officially living at Ten Acres for three days. Dan stuck his head inside an opened doorway, saw the elegant crystal chandelier cascading down from the ceiling and correctly identified the room as the formal dining room. Across the hall he found a room that looked remarkably like a smaller version of the living room. Remembering the floor plans Jim had shared with him, he recognized it immediately as the family room.

"In that case, his office would be over…there." Dan pointed at another doorway. This one was closed. With the safety of their friendship, he didn't hesitate. Whistling cheerfully under his breath, he opened the door and paused in blatant surprise. This room was actually furnished. Fully furnished. Because the space looked the most interesting out of all the other rooms he'd seen so far, he walked inside and rapped a hand against the large and impressive computer desk, complete with all the new and updated technology a person could ever ask for. Computer, laptop, Ipad, fax machine, high speed router. Another desk, a handsome roll-top made out of gleaming mahogany, was set off in the corner of the room. A plain brown envelope sat on top of it. His eyebrows immediately shot together. He recognized the envelope. Hell, he'd _delivered_ it to Jim, a few months back. Without reservation, he picked it up. A hand drew out the information from inside. Just as he'd expected, it was the marriage certificate. A smile tilted his lips. Knowing he wouldn't tease Jim about this, he slipped the certificate back inside, inherently pleased to discover its importance, and placed it carefully down on the desk.

The kitchen was next. Large and airy, gorgeous streams of the weakening October sunlight filtered through the curtainless windows. Dan couldn't help but smile. It was so appealing; even without a table to sit at or a single adornment on the wall. He let his gaze wander; noticed all the brand-new, top of the line appliances which, except for the refrigerator, didn't look as if anyone had so much as breathed on them yet, let alone used them. He went over to the stove, peeled off the manufacturer sticker that was still attached to the oven door, and laughed some more. A thorough search through the refrigerator showed an impressively surprising amount of supplies. Pleased with the many options, he grabbed a bottle of blue Gatorade, made himself a thick turkey and cheese sandwich, and strolled out to the porch through the back screen door. The railing served as an excellent seat to view the arrival of the pretty autumn evening.

"Dan?" Jim called out from the base of the stairs. "You still here?"

"Outside," Dan replied in-between bites of his sandwich. When Jim appeared in the kitchen, he yelled back, "Hope you don't mind but I helped myself to a small snack."

"Fine, that's fine," he answered, coming into the room. After contemplating the remnants of the morning's coffee and finding it severely wanting, he dumped out the pot and reluctantly settled for a bottle of water instead."So, what brings you to my neck of the woods? And at this late hour?"

Dan didn't exactly consider 6:10 in the evening a late hour. "Just passing by." He raised a shoulder, wiped a few crumbs off his shirt, and downed some more of the clear blue liquid. "I have a few days off. I stopped by to chat with Regan. While I was there, he mentioned that you'd moved up here from the Manor House a few days ago so I thought I'd drop in and see what you've been up to."

"Cool. You're my first visitor," Jim shared, earning a startled look from Dan, and walked out onto the porch. Since there wasn't anywhere else to sit, he slid down the side of the house until he landed on the floorboards. Gratefully he stretched out his long limbs. A crisp evening breeze blew by, rattling the colorful leaves on the tree, and carrying with it a sudden sharp bite of the approaching change of the seasons. He shivered inside his sweatshirt.

"Seriously? No one else has visited yet?" Dan finished off his sandwich.

Jim lifted a resigned shoulder, not at all surprised by Dan's obvious shock. He'd expected to have been inundated with visitors the second after he moved in. It hadn't happened. Unfortunately, he must have picked a bad week to move. "My parents have been busy with the business. They're supposed to be flying in tonight from South America. There was another problem with one of my dad's ventures down there. I think they'll probably stop by tomorrow sometime." It shocked him that he didn't feel a smidgeon of guilt over not accompanying his father on the trip or finding a way to solve the complicated issue. It wasn't his job anymore. He'd become an official ex-employee for his father three weeks earlier. His replacement was handling it. Amazingly enough, the change in status didn't trouble him a bit. No, it didn't bother him at all.

"What about Honey and Brian? They only live a few minutes down the road." Dan pointed in the general direction of their home.

"They're busy, too. Or, at least, Brian is," he quickly amended. "As low man on the totem pole, he's been pulling a few extra shifts at the hospital to cover for a couple of physicians who are on vacation. Honey's been chomping at the bit to come over but he wants them to visit together. I think they're planning on popping in tomorrow, too. Maybe when my parents are here. As long as nothing comes up at the hospital, of course," he was forced to add. Brian's schedule was nothing if not unpredictable, much to his sister's chagrin.

"Mart and Di?" Dan continued valiantly counting down the list of their friends.

"Hoping for D-Day," Jim answered cheerfully. It didn't bother him at all that the couple hadn't made it over for a visit. They were waiting on a huge change to come into their lives. Judging from his last conversation with Mart, Di was starting to get really uncomfortable…and really, really testy. In the wise words of Tom Petty, Mart truly believed waiting was the hardest part.

"D…what? Ahh. I get it." Dan nodded, an edge of his lip curling up in amused delight. He let out a sharp bark of laughter and whispered to himself, "Delivery Day."

"Exactly. Di's overdue by two days now, you know." Jim scrubbed a hand over his freshly shaved face. His green eyes traveled over the wide backyard, taking it all in. Leaves in differing shades of yellow and orange decorated the unraked ground, a tell-tale sign of autumn. Slowly, his face took on a faraway look. Where had the summer gone? Only a short time ago he'd just been driving up to the Manor House for Di's baby shower in the blistering August heat, after meeting with his contractor. Now, here he was, staring out into the approaching October evening, from his own back porch. What a difference a few months made.

"The Beldens?" Even as he served up the name of Jim's nearest, but not exactly dearest, neighbors, Dan's lips twitched with barely suppressed humor. Peter Belden, he knew, would never be the one to show up on Jim's doorstep with a basket of homemade muffins or with a neighborly offering of one of Helen's delicious casseroles. Considering the history between them, it was not bloody likely to happen.

Jim swung his head around, his eyes thin strips of pure emerald. "Riiiight," he drawled out dryly, sarcasm dripping from his words. He tried not to visualize what a visit from his immediate neighbors would be like. Not fun. At least, not fun for him. He gave an exaggerated shudder. "I can't imagine why they haven't taken the time to welcome me to the neighborhood. Helen Belden, maybe. But Mr. Peter Belden?" He punctuated a shake of his head with an exaggerated eye roll. "Yeah. I don't think so."

Valiantly fighting the urge to laugh, and failing miserably, Dan attempted to paint an innocent expression on his face. The words were hard to understand through the great big guffaws rolling out of his mouth. "You mean Mr. Belden isn't a card-carrying member of the James Winthrop Frayne II fan club? Whoa. What a shocker."

Jim kicked out with his foot, uncaring that he was at a disadvantage. Since he was sitting down on the porch, there wasn't a lot of force to it. In fact, it was practically useless. Not only did it not shut Dan up, it only made him laugh all the more.

Dan took the glancing kick with a great deal of glee. After all, he'd more than asked for it. After his chuckles died down, he cleared his throat, preparing himself to ask the question he always asked when they were together. If others were around, he'd learned to code it, to keep them from understanding who he was inquiring about. "Have you heard anything about Hollywood?"

Reaching for the cell clipped to the side of his belt, Jim placed it on the floorboards. His face, stoic and strong, was answer enough. He didn't need the words, although he gave life to them anyway. "Not a damn thing."

Dan's eyebrows lifted. Although it was expected, it still sucked to hear it. Majorly sucked. All amusement fled, leaving him at a momentary loss. As objectively as possible he stated the blatantly obvious, "Hell, Jim. You haven't heard anything since Trixie left you in her house at the end of June. She's been gone through July, August, September and now a good part of October. Where the hell is she?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jim settled for an annoyed glare. Hearing the months listed in such a way was similar to having hot wax poured over his skin. And the question…It was one that tormented him through every waking second of each day. He'd give everything he owned to have an answer. His words came out belligerent. "I don't need a refresher course."

"Doesn't matter. It's still a long time, whether you want to talk about it or not." Slipping off the railing, Dan stared out over the untamed backyard. Lots of dirt, some mud, a few brave clusters of grass that had stood strong against the recently ended construction, as well as an impressive assortment of stones; all waiting patiently for the coming of spring when the real yard work could begin. Although he understood Jim would hate it, he stated the truth as calmly and rationally as he could, "It's been much longer than I expected when you first told me she'd been called in."

"Again, you're not saying anything I don't already know." Jim's voice carried a sharper edge to it, saying without words that he wanted Dan to drop the subject. The sooner, the better. Thinking about the length of time was painful enough. Conversing about it made it even worse. Standing up abruptly, he turned his back, a normally effective way to end an unwanted conversation. But not when one was dealing with Daniel Mangan.

"You're not putting me off," Dan warned, dark eyes boring a thick hole into Jim's back.

"Damn it, Dan. _Damn it_." A hand fisted on the doorframe. Looking into the kitchen but not seeing an ounce of the sparkle or the light, he started speaking in a low, fierce voice. "It's not just the amount of time she's been gone. It's worse. Much worse. I haven't had a call, an email or even a stupid text from anyone in California for almost two days now." The stress wasn't merely getting to him. It was steadily pulling him under, was the reason why he was working with the ferocity of a dog to get the interior work of the house finished. He dragged a hand through his still-damp hair. "Nothing. Not a fu…freaking thing."

The news certainly wasn't promising. Swearing, Dan grabbed Jim's arm and swung him back around. He needed to look him in the face. "What do you mean?" His words were punctuated slowly, carefully; controlled, in much the same way Dan would question an informant or criminal. But his eyes, the deep, dark onyx of them, told an entirely different story.

After staring at the hand on his elbow, Jim lifted his head and lifted a single eyebrow. From somewhere deep within, he muttered irritably, with just a hint of mockery, "Weren't you listening?"

"Jim," Dan put in warningly, hanging on tighter. "Say it again."

Jim shook Dan off. He held out his hands to ward off any other attempt to touch him, forced his mouth to form the words. "I haven't had any word from Heidi or Jocelyn. Not for two…" Here he stopped to muffle and modify another curse. "Freaking days."

"Nothing?" Dan pondered the information, a fierce frown taking over his handsome face.

"I check the damn thing every five minutes." Jim felt like winging his cell phone through the air. Instead, he reached down, clipped it back to his belt, and willed it to either ring or chirp. Neither happened, much to his growing frustration. "I've sent countless texts to both of them. I've called them. My voicemails probably make me sound like a raving lunatic. And I've emailed them." His glower up at the porch's ceiling carried enough heat to make it spontaneously combust. "They're probably thinking I'm going to start stalking them next."

Dan blew out a tedious breath, letting the information sift and settle. It didn't help him like it any better. "There's got to be a logical reason here. Maybe…maybe…" An idea percolated through his mind. He mulled it over, liking the looks of it more and more, and nodded curtly. "You know, Jim, both of them have been very good about contacting you. Maybe Jocelyn or Heidi can't contact you. Maybe it's time for Jocelyn to have her baby. She's pregnant too, you know. And she's due in October, just like Mart's lovely Diana."

Jim's eyes slowly widened. It was a definite possibility…and so much more positive than most of the other thoughts circulating through his mind. "Maybe," he murmured, suddenly not quite as frustrated as he had been only a moment earlier. The scenario made a lot of sense.

Never one to borrow trouble, Dan tabled the discussion without hesitation. He'd worry if the time came to worry. As it was, he wanted to lighten the mood a little. Hooking his thumb towards the interior of the new house, he asked, his face once again as straight as he could make it, "What gives with the mattress in the living room? Is that body of yours getting too old to make it up the stairs to the bedroom?"

"Long story," Jim replied with a short laugh. He walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator, for the first time remembering that he was down-right starved. He pulled out an apple, started chomping down on it, and contemplated the rest of the contents. Now that he was faced with the prospect of food, he couldn't decide what he wanted.

Following him in, Dan drummed a finger along the counter and smirked. "So? Bad knees, bad back, house too big? What?"

"None of the above." Jim looked around for a place to sit, seemed surprised after recalling that there weren't any spots yet, and settled for leaning up against the stove, one leg crossed over the other. "Bad delivery."

A scenario he hadn't considered. "Who'd you use?"

"The company out of White Plains my mother loves. They're small, reliable and able to get any type of furniture you want." Which was the exact reason why his mother sought their services whenever she was redecorating. "They sent the right bed but the wrong size mattress and box spring. When the driver called the company to report the problem, their manager told them to return to the store right away and pick up a new one. I don't think he wanted to offend a member of one of his most prolific client's family."

"Sounds about right." Since the apple looked good, Dan scored one for himself.

"Anyway, one of the men had to leave after returning to the store. I think there was a family emergency of some sort." Jim finished off the water and threw the bottle in the recycling bin.

After polishing the apple on his shirt, Dan inquired curiously, "What kind?"

"Not sure." The returning driver hadn't gone into specifics. But Jim could tell by the stony expression on his face that he hadn't been overly ecstatic about returning alone. "Anyway, when the truck drove up the hill later that afternoon, there was only one delivery guy inside."

"Ah. I get it. Try lugging a king-size mattress by yourself." Dan shuddered at the thought. A Herculean feat.

"Exactly." Jim opened the screen door and threw the apple core out into the backyard. "I helped him, of course, but I could tell he was distracted. I asked a few questions and found out the story. Turns out he didn't want to miss his kid's soccer game. It was the first time his daughter was in the starting varsity line-up."

"So…you helped him unload and then you told him to go." The pieces fell into place so swiftly Dan almost heard them click.

Jim grinned his trademark lopsided grin. "What else could I do? She was playing forward. He was hoping she'd get a chance to score a goal or at least notch an assist. Anyway, we left the mattress on the floor of the living room. And that's where it's been ever since." His grin grew. He recognized the irony of its position. He could even poke fun at his history. "Somehow, it seems fitting. The very first time I ever slept here was on a mattress on the floor. Granted, it was old, ugly, filthy and stuffed with money but…"

Dan chortled. He knew the story well. "Nice to see that you've come full circle." He finished off his apple, winged the core out the opened door and pumped a celebratory fist in the air when it bumped against a stone outside, going much farther than Jim's apple had.

Full circle. Jim hadn't thought of it that way. But Dan was wrong. It wasn't a complete circle. Not yet. One important part, vivid and vital, was missing. He wasn't waking up to a set of beautiful sapphire blue eyes or a head topped with golden curls. And he needed to. Dear God in heaven, did he need to. Jim swallowed back a sigh of deep longing, reluctantly burying his deepest wish beneath a mundane chore. "So, do you feel like helping me lug it upstairs?"

Dan's answer was a quick roll of his shoulder. "Sounds good. It'll pay you back for my dinner, meager though it was."

"We'll order pizza and wings when we finish. Let's…" The sudden advent of his cell cut him off, mid-sentence. Both men stared at the device, half in shock, half in worry and both with avid curiosity. Jim reached for it, willing his hand not to shake. "Mart," he breathed out after looking at the caller id, not certain if he should be relieved or not.

Hoping it had been someone from their California connection, Dan swallowed his own disappointment and the rest of his Gatorade. He unashamedly eavesdropped, his ears perking up while he caught the gist of the conversation.

"Hey, Mart," Jim said into the phone, keeping an eye on an interested Dan. "What's up?"

"It's time." Mart's voice was high-pitched, squeaky, and obviously agitated. He was also speaking louder than normal. Jim held the cell away from his ear and he could still hear every single spoken word. He thought he even deducted a note of panic in his friend's voice. "Oh God, Jim. It's time."

"Time?" Jim visibly jumped when there was a sudden crackle on the line.

"Sorry. Sorry." Mart was back in a jiffy, speaking swiftly and even louder. "Dropped the damn phone. Anyway, I'm getting the word out. We're leaving for the hospital. Like, right now."

"Hospital?" Jim parroted back, momentarily blinded by stupidity. "Why are…" And then it dawned on him. His mouth fell open and he suddenly felt a deep, strong affinity with Mart. No small wonder why the father-to-be was sounding more like the village idiot. He shared an equally astonished look with Dan.

Reaching over, Mart buckled Di's seatback, trying to ignore the small moans of discomfort emitting from his wife's mouth. "It's okay, Di. It's okay. Remember what the doctor said. You need to breathe," he tried to reassure her, which failed wretchedly. She merely aimed a pain-filled glare his way. Smiling wanly in apology, Mart closed the door, tossed the suitcase in the back and scooted around the front of the car. Remembering at the last minute that he was still on the phone with Jim, he announced suddenly, "Get to the hospital. Baby Belden's on her way."

Then all he heard on the other end was silence. Obviously, Mart wasn't thinking quite straight. Jim hoped he remembered how to drive so that the parents-to-be actually made it there in one piece. He tucked away the phone, a pleased smile resting on his lips. "Well, would you look at that. It seems like D-day's finally arrived."

"Damn." The grin stretched across his handsome face. With a careless toss, the empty bottle joined Jim's old water bottle in the recycling bin. He fished out his keys from his pocket, started walking through the kitchen at a quick clip. "Sorry, Jim. Looks like mattress moving is gonna have to wait for another day."

"Another night or two of sleeping in the living room won't kill me or my back." Crossing the kitchen, Jim closed and locked the backdoor. Their pace matched perfectly as they hurried through the house. "I'll call the others from the car, just in case Mart forgot to inform them." Quite a possibility, considering the conversation he'd just shared with him.

"Okay. I'll see you there." Practically sprinting, Dan was the first one out the front door. He made a bee-line for his trusty old truck and was inside it before Jim had the front door closed. His truck kicked up an impressive assortment of dirt as he backed up and barreled down the driveway, eager to be on his way.

After locking the front door, Jim raced down the steps but came to a halt when he reached the ground. Half-turning, he gave one last look at the house standing behind him. His heart, that tiny little organ with a mind all its own, made a tiny little wish, just as it always did when he caught sight of his finished home. It had taken a whole lot of time, a whole lot of energy and, in the end, a whole lot of money but Ten Acres was completely rebuilt. And completely in his vision, too. He hadn't compromised; hadn't wilted or wavered, no matter how often his contractor had complained to him or what the final cost had become. It was perfect…well, almost perfect. All he was missing was Trixie. Where was she? _Where the hell was she_? God, the not-knowing was gradually killing him. The need to see her, talk to her, to be with her, just to cherish her grew with each and every passing day.

A loud farewell beep from Dan's horn pulled him back from the brink of his all-consuming thoughts. Waving his friend on, he made it to his SUV. It wouldn't do to miss the birth of the new little Bob-White. If Honey didn't maim him, Diana most certainly would. He climbed in the driver's side, started the engine and threw it in reverse. Moving by rote, he backed up, started to trail Dan down the long dirt driveway, and glanced in his rearview mirror. And paused again at the view of his home, standing proudly against the backdrop of the fading evening sky. So engrossed in the sight, he actually stalled the vehicle and didn't realize it. His breath caught painfully in the back of his throat. Holy Hell. She had to come back. She just had to. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it without her.

Frustrated when the car wouldn't obey his directive to move, he flushed a vibrant red when he realized the reason why; his male ego more than embarrassed. Grateful Dan was already on the road and hadn't seen his driving faux-pas; he re-started it and resolutely pushed thoughts of her away. It wouldn't do to have every thought and emotion, every unfulfilled wish and desire, parading across his face, for all of his friends and family to see, study and question him about. They were much too inquisitive, much too nosy, much too caring for his own good. After sucking in a deep breath, he continued down the driveway and slowly turned onto Glen Road, his face as impassive as he could make it. He could think about her later, after he returned to the safety and privacy of his home. Then, and only then, would he have the full freedom to think and remember, plan and dream, and wonder when the hell he would be able to see her again.


	49. Chapter 49

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Forty-Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

_The Next Day_

The small passenger plane parted the wispy threads of clouds as it slowly started its downward descent. The slight change in altitude jostled her out of her light doze. Startled eyes swirling with confusion glanced around in an attempt to place her surroundings. Trixie knuckled awareness back into them. Gradually, and with great joy, it all came back to her. Where she was; what it meant. Most importantly, where she was going. With a sudden burst of energy, she pressed her nose up against the window. A brilliant smile spread across her lips, took any remaining confusion out of her eyes and made her dimples dance with happiness. Trees topped with the bright, vibrant colors of autumn were directly below her; a gorgeous sight to behold. It seemed as if the branches were reaching out to welcome her home, in much the same way she knew her family and friends would once they saw her again.

Home. Oh, gleeps. It felt so good. She ran a finger along the torn brim of her…no, she hastily corrected herself, Mart's hat and leaned back in her seat for the final few moments of her plane ride. She relished the feeling as the plane touched down on the landing strip. No one used the small, deserted airport anymore. Which was the exact reason why it suited her purposes perfectly. No Newark. No LaGuardia. No JFK. Nope. She'd requested, and had been given, a covert flight home. Complete with no hassle. There was even a car waiting for her. A rental, of course, but she didn't have to wait in line, sign papers, provide her driver's license or proof of insurance. No red tape. All she had to do was turn the key in the ignition and start the drive to Sleepyside. Yeah, she thought as her mouth curved upwards, it felt pretty damn good to be back.

"We're here, Ag…Belden," the co-pilot called out from the cockpit only a few feet away from his passenger, an apologetic lift to his lips.

She smiled her thanks. Standing up as far as the narrow space would allow, she grabbed her carry-on, the only luggage she'd brought with her, and slipped on her sunglasses. With her heart hammering out a glorious welcome, she stepped onto the small set of stairs that unfolded to the ground. She breathed in the fresh October air, savored it and committed it to memory. Then she climbed down the small flight of stairs, her natural gait even more buoyant and bouncy than normal. As promised, the car was right there, waiting for her, parked patiently at the edge of the tarmac. And, also as promised, no other agents were around. Exactly what she desired. A nice, private, no fuss, no frills send-off.

After gifting the pilots with a wave and a grateful grin, she headed towards the car, the strap of her carry-on draped over her shoulder. The car was perfect for her. Nothing flashy; just a nice, quality sedan. She touched the dark blue hood, flashed a pleased grin at the keys dangling from the ignition. Almost giddy with happiness, she opened the back door, tossed her bag in with as much grace and care as her brother Mart had done with Di's only a day earlier. The last thing she did before slipping into the driver's seat was pull out her cell.

And her smile dropped off her face. Still nothing. Just a stupid blank screen. It was enough to make her want to swear or bang her head on the steering wheel. How could it not be in working order yet? She'd only requested the change in phones about thirty-two hours ago. Usually the tech department was much more reliable. It was the only fly in her ointment. Crinkling her nose in a display of impatient disgust, she muttered, frustrated, "I'm not going to let you get me down. They promised you'll be up and running soon." As much as it pained her to admit, she realized that the techs had more important matters to deal with. They never dropped a promise; it was just her dumb luck that her request wasn't as pressing as the majority of their other assignments. They'd get to it when they could.

After lifting a shoulder, she ruefully came to grips with the inevitable. She'd simply have to surprise the inhabitants on Glen Road. She wasn't going to take the time to find a payphone and call them ahead of time. Nope. She wasn't. She was just going to show up and shock the hell out of them. Man, there was something so cool about surprising them. Her eyes sparkled beautifully behind her shades. Since the cell could currently be classified as useless, she dropped it on the passenger seat and started the car. The engine turning over was one of the sweetest sounds she'd ever heard. She backed up, left the little, forgotten, hardly ever used airstrip behind, and turned onto the strip of dirt some optimistic person considered a road. It wouldn't be long before she hit the highway, the one that would bring her to the spider web of activity that would eventually connect her to Sleepyside and home. A quick glance at the digital numbers on the dashboard told her she had about an hour's worth of road time before she'd be within the town's limits.

As much as she liked music, the sounds pouring out of the radio merely served as background noise. Nothing more; nothing less. It didn't penetrate, not the aura of joy surrounding her. In less time than she expected, she pulled onto the main road, saw the sign for the interstate ahead, and never once looked back. It mirrored her recent departure from California perfectly. Finally, she was on her way home. She couldn't have been happier.

As the car ate up the miles at a surprisingly quick rate, she thought back to the whirlwind that was the past two days of her life. The mission from true hell wrapped up. _Finally._ Chalk one up for the good guys, she thought with a loud, unladylike snort. It hadn't been fun. It hadn't been easy. Not in the least. More like challenging, difficult, annoying, and aggravating; to put it plainly, the hardest mission she'd ever participated in. Or maybe it felt like that because her heart hadn't been in it. Her mind and body; yes, of course. They'd both been engaged throughout the entirety of the mission. But she'd had to work very hard to stay focused, to not become a weak link. And she, who usually found it exhilarating and exciting to get caught near the impact zone, was more than startled to discover that she felt anything but this time around. She hadn't wanted the excitement. She hadn't cared about the thrill or the adrenaline rush. No. In the end, all she'd wanted was home.

The last thing the Chief had ordered her (as well as Max and Shane) before they disembarked was to keep the contents of the mission completely classified. No one, and that meant Jocelyn, Heidi and any number of assorted others…she blushed at the memory because he'd been blatantly staring at her when he'd given this particular statement…were to know about it. Not that she possessed any desire to share any of the details. All anyone needed to know was that the CDA was safe from the outside forces that had wanted to pulverize it and crush it, and their members, into fine dust. Through sheer grit, they'd risen above the crisis and more than neutralized the enemy. It had taken some serious work; some serious effort; some serious time. But the skeleton crew of four had accomplished it. Without back-up, without communication, without a legion of high-tech gear. They'd only instituted a clean-up crew once the enemy had been severely and irrevocably taken care of.

Her euphoria faded a little and her hands momentarily shook on the wheel. With the resiliency she was known for, she pulled herself back from the uncomfortable and disturbing memories. It was over. There was no need to relive it or regret it. The good guys came out on top, exactly as they were supposed to. And the bad guys, along with the dark and evil legacy they'd been attempting to start, were quite dead.

Never one to focus on the negative, she zeroed in on their arrival back at the agency. They'd walked through the back door in the late afternoon, right when the sun was starting to lose some of its brightness and the wind was beginning to pick up along the beach. They'd taken the rest of the agents by surprise when they'd poured out of the secret staircase and into Heidi's office. The look of utter shock on Heidi's face had been priceless. Her friend had been frozen; had gone stark-white. It had only lasted a moment before she was vaulting her desk and grabbing her Shane in a tight, tight embrace, unmindful of the broken arm caught in a temporary sling.

And then there had been Jocelyn. Sweetly pregnant…hugely pregnant, Trixie amended with a chuckle as a big rig thundered passed her on the left. She hadn't run to Max. She hadn't moved. She'd stood stock-still; a startled statue. Tears had actually trickled out of her eyes. It had been Max who'd crossed the floor to her, who had gently swept her up in his arms and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. When he'd leaned down to kiss her belly…well, Trixie had to blink back a few of her own tears as well.

It was then that she'd turned to the Chief. While all the celebratory welcoming had been going on, amidst the tears and laughter, the kisses and the embraces, she'd pulled him off to the side. And voiced the two little words she'd known she would utter once the mission had been satisfactorily completed. Her fiercely whispered "_I'm done_" hadn't taken him by surprise. No; he'd clearly expected it. He'd nodded his head, accepted her resignation without an argument, and, in the same business-like tone he generally used, quietly thanked her for her years of service.

The next endless series of hours were filled to overflowing; peppered with quick cat naps, a long overdue meal, an extremely lengthy debriefing, with a few hastily placed calls in-between to begin the process of unloading her house. All mixed up with hasty farewells to her friends from the agency. She'd managed to lose a whole hour by staring out over the ocean while images of the last time she'd been at her house had overtaken her. Emerald green eyes; whispered words and gentle, loving touches. Her heart ached with the powerful memories. And then she'd left him. Alone and in her bed. She'd cringed at the memory and, because she didn't want to contemplate what he thought when he woke up without her there, used the remaining time before her flight home to box up her clothes and the tiny amount of other personal items she'd brought into the house, to be mailed out later. The rest of the furnishings remained since California University was more than willing to buy her house, lock stock and barrel. They were planning on using it for visiting guests and lecturers. They'd been extremely grateful that her car came with it, too. All in all, it had been simple to close out her life in California. Surprisingly simple. She'd done it all without a single regret.

But, now that she was back on New York soil, she couldn't help but wish that her cell phone was alive and kicking. Or that the past few days hadn't been filled with other items that needed her attention. Her eyes slid towards the cellular device. Now that she was so close, the urge to call her family was overwhelming. "When are you going to work?" she mumbled, her famous strain of impatience beginning to show through again.

The inanimate object didn't respond. No chirps. No beeps. No clever ringtones. Nothing. Not even a stupid flash on a screen. It was as gray as gray could be. She let out a long-suffering sigh, tapped a finger against it. "At least you're not pink. I have to give you that much," she told it, grateful for the dark gray color. In her opinion, it already had a leg up on her most recent model, one she'd been more than happy to leave behind at the agency.

Thoughts of her pink phone, the one she'd left in the lockbox, made her seek out an important finger on her left hand. Something had been missing from the lockbox. The only item she'd wanted to reclaim. She hadn't pressed Heidi, having no desire to draw anyone's attention to the absent object. No one had offered up a word to her about it, either. But she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her wedding ring. Well, she huffed out as she fixed her thoughts quickly in her mind. Not exactly her wedding ring…but…"Damn it," she swore, slamming her hand against the steering wheel. All right, it was her wedding ring. She blew out a frustrated breath, ignoring a sudden blush heating up her cheeks.

Luckily for her state of mind, the exit sign she'd been waiting for appeared. Behind her sunglasses, her blue eyes brightened with absolute joy. Almost there, almost there, almost there. The wheels seemed to chime out the mantra, with each passing mile. When she turned onto the exit, she couldn't help it and pumped a victorious hand in the air, so damn happy to be back. If she was being honest with herself, she could admit that it had been a long time coming. Much too long.

And then she was driving down familiar roads, roads she knew as well as the veins on the back of her hand. When the sign for Glen Road appeared, the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She ignored them and nosed the car onto the beloved road. It wasn't too long before she neared a driveway marked with a cheerful assortment of brightly colored chrysanthemums adorning the base of the mailbox. Di and Mart's house. As much as she'd like to stop there, she kept right on going. Really, coming home wouldn't truly be coming home without first turning into the driveway for Crabapple Farm. In a much different reaction from her drive down the same road last April, a light smile touched her lips at the sight of the little country store that wasn't so little anymore. Mr. Lynch had really outdone himself. Judging by the amount of vehicles in the parking lot, he had turned the store into something much more. This time, it didn't hurt to look at the store, not like it used to. The memories simply weren't painful anymore. They were just there, without the power to wound or to affect her. Nothing more; nothing less. Just the past. The past was finally that; well and truly behind her, with the future stretching out as far as her heart could see.

She intentionally didn't think about the man she wanted to be in her future. No; later. That was for later. Right now she wanted to concentrate on home. Half a song later and there it was. With the blinker making its clickingly rhythmic sound, she swung the car into the driveway. It only took seconds but it seemed like forever before she was pulling in and parking behind her mother's van, underneath the shade of the big old oak tree she used to play under. Leaves the color of pure gold adorned both the branches and the ground. Springing out of the car, she couldn't resist and yelled out loudly, exactly like she'd done as a teenager, "Moms! Dad! I'm home!" Then she raced up the back steps and bounced into the kitchen.

All she saw was an empty room. Momentarily surprised, severely disappointed, Trixie glanced around. Yep. No one was inside. Not a single person. The sight of a pile of dirty dishes residing in and around the sink made her blink twice in astonishment. As a full-blooded member of the Belden family, she knew that dirty dishes were never allowed to stay in the sink for any length of time. Not even on a holiday. It was a cardinal rule of her mother's, one that all four children and one husband had learned to follow very quickly. "Moms!" she exclaimed, listening intently for a response.

Her mother didn't answer. Neither did her father or Bobby. But something else did; something that sounded like a bark. Well, not exactly a bark. More of a yelp, really. Following the yippy sound, Trixie walked through the kitchen and into the laundry room. There, nosing her way up against the toddler gate restraining her in the little room, was an adorable little puppy; all fluffy and sweet and light brown eyes. A golden retriever, if Trixie didn't miss her guess.

"Why, hello, there," Trixie murmured soothingly, bending down to stroke the little one's upturned nose. "What are you doing here, little cutie?" Because she couldn't resist, she reached down, scooped the pup up and over the gate and cuddled her under her chin.

While the puppy yipped, squirmed and licked her, the reason why a new little puppy was in the house suddenly flashed through her mind. "Ohhhh," she breathed out, with a touch of sadness to her voice and a glint of painful tears to her eyes. She carried the little one over to the window, looked out towards the orchard where a cherished and well-loved pet was now residing. She used the puppy's soft fur to wipe away the moisture from her eyes. She knew her mother well. Helen Belden had a very, very soft heart. Her caring soul would have needed a new pet as soon as possible. And her father wouldn't have been able to deny her.

"Well." After a long, intense moment, she breathed it out and resolutely brought herself under control. Catching sight of a leash, a pink leash at that, she thought with an inward snort, she grabbed it and hooked it onto the matching pink collar. "I'm not sure what your name is yet, little one, but let's take a little potty break, shall we?" She carried the puppy outside, put her on the ground, and giggled with delight as the little one ran around in circles, her front legs moving much too fast for her back legs to catch up with her.

After a walk around the yard, during which she ascertained with one hundred percent accuracy that not a single Belden was anywhere near the residence, she brought the puppy back up the stairs. "Back to your room, you little handful," she told the puppy, who was more than living up to her predecessor's reputation. In the span of ten minutes, she'd dug up some mums, attempted to chew off a drain pipe, and attacked the garden hose with her sharp puppy teeth. It was hard for Trixie not to laugh at her antics.

After the puppy was back in her room, freshly fed and watered and looking pathetically hopeful at Trixie from behind the gate, she strolled back into the kitchen and sat down at her old spot at the large kitchen table. Obviously, she needed a change in her plans. Seeing her family first wasn't working out quite as well as she'd expected it to. Drumming a nervous finger along the edge of the table, she considered her next course of action.

The answer was as simple as her next breath. Maybe…maybe. Her head swung towards Ten Acres. Should she dare? How could she not? _He _was the true reason why she was home, and home to stay. She had to see him. The sooner, the better. That is, if he was even there. He was more likely to be in the city, hard at work, than in Sleepyside. Plus there wasn't any guarantee that his house was finished yet. Just because his preliminary plans called for a September date didn't mean that his contractor had been able to stick to it. Without realizing it, she started chewing on her bottom lip, going back and forth on the pros and cons of driving over to Ten Acres. Her fingers brushed against a notebook lying on the table. Almost absently, she looked down at it, making her internal argument became a thing of the past. Her mouth dropped. Her eyes opened. Wide. And she re-read the words again; this time, out loud.

_Bobby Belden! (the obviously agitated note ran)_

_Hospital! Now! Forget your date with Whitney. Bring her. And get here as soon as you can! The baby's coming!_

There wasn't any signature; nothing at all. No helpful scrawl of a date or time, either. It took a super human effort. Trixie scraped her mouth off the table. Hoping she wasn't late for the birth of her new niece, wanting to be there to support her brother and his wife, she sprinted outside. The door closed with a loud bang behind her. Barely remembering to lock it, she rushed to her car. She peeled out and was on her to the hospital, only remembering to pick her lead foot up off the pedal when she caught sight of a Sleepyside police car well ahead of her. A traffic ticket wouldn't help matters.

The same stupid red light that always managed to plague her, as well as every other resident of Sleepyside, stopped her dead, right in the center of town, just like it always did. She swore. Viciously. It sucked. She knew she was stuck for a good five minutes. "Honestly, you'd think they'd have fixed it by now," she grumbled, sending an angry glare that should have pulverized the object on sight. On the other side of the road, cars drove past her, obviously enjoying the freedom to move. "Come on. Come on," she urged, patting the steering wheel, anxious to get to the hospital and find out what was going on.

The second it changed, she unintentionally revved the engine and shot forward with much more force than she should have. Ignoring the interested eyes of a few shoppers, she maneuvered her way down the two-lane road and, when the hospital came into sight, let out a happy cheer. She was there.

She zoomed into the first available open spot, got out of the car, and sent a long, searching glance over the parking lot. There was an immediate flutter around the vicinity of her heart. There, not more than five spaces away, was an SUV. A nearly brand new SUV. Did she ever know who it belonged to. She'd been a passenger in it, not too long ago, on that trip into White Plains. She stared at the vehicle, her mouth suddenly dry and her palms starting to sweat. Some of the urgency drained away. Now she had her answer. He wasn't at work; he wasn't in the city. Without a doubt, he was inside. She swung her head up to the hospital; looked at the straight line of windows along the third floor. Her past years as a candy striper served her well. It was the maternity floor. He was up there, with the rest of her family, with the rest of their friends. After all this time, she was finally, finally going to see him. Blessed be…and in a public forum.

In all the daydreams, in all the fantasies she'd had starring him since she'd been called in for her last mission, they had always, always, always seen each other for the first time alone. With no one else around. Just the two of them. In a few of the fantasies they talked. In a few more of them, they…well…her cheeks turned a pretty rose color. But they were always alone. Since that wasn't obviously going to happen now, she slammed the car door a little harder than was entirely necessary and counted to one hundred in an attempt to get her emotions under control. She could not, absolutely could not, let everything out there on her sleeve, exactly as Jocelyn had accused her of doing during their Las Vegas adventure. Not with so many sharp-eyed people standing around. Watching them. Cataloguing their every move. Yeah. It definitely wouldn't do.

When she was relatively certain she had everything under control, she started forward. Her pace was much slower than it had been before while questions that would soon be answered swirled through her mind, in perfect tandem with the gentle whisper of the autumn wind. How would he react? Would he be happy she was back? Pissed off? Or, worse, apathetic? She sucked in a jagged breath, hoping that he would be as excited to see her as she was to see him.

A few of the staff did a double-take when they saw her enter through the automatic doors; they even called out her name. She didn't hear them; didn't acknowledge them. Intent on getting up to the third floor, she pushed the up button for the elevator. Because her palms were sweating more than they had before, she wiped them against the front of her faded olive green cargo pants and then pulled on the hem of her black shirt. And did the hardest thing ever. She waited.

It took forever for it to beep. Positive that her features were schooled, not wanting any of the longing or the love to show, just in case he wasn't receptive to it, she entered the elevator. Hiding behind her training was easy. It'd served her well many times in the past. When she turned around to press the number, she was calm and collected. No one would know the longing of her heart; the calling of her soul. At least, that's what she attempted to convince herself. The ride seemed to go on forever. Or maybe it was the beating her heart, thudding more and more loudly as she neared her destination. Whatever the reason, she was more than ready for the damn doors to open.

Then, they did. She stood still and concentrated, once again, on the simple and utter joy of being home. She was here. She was alive. And she was going to see her family. What more could she ask for? Well, she knew the answer to that but…rolling her eyes, mumbling to herself to stop acting so schizophrenic, she stepped over the threshold. Mentally counting the steps in her mind, she made it to the secure double doors and pushed the call button. "Trixie Belden," she answered in response to the nurse's question. "I'm here to visit my sister-in-law. I believe she's been admitted to the hospital. Diana Lynch Belden?"

The immediate pop of the doors served as her answer. Her booted feet echoed along the worn tiled corridor. After turning a corner, she stopped and stared, drinking the sight in. There they were. She skimmed over the gathered group until her gaze landed on the man with the head topped with red. She could only see him in profile; he was standing off to the side, his entire being focused on Mart and what her brother was saying. Grateful for the private moment, she pressed a hand to her heart, completely unaware of the telling and true movement. Using the time wisely, she feasted on him and committed everything about him to memory. From the dark green button-down shirt to the leather belt wrapped around his waist and then down to the faded blue jeans. Ruggedly brown, and extremely worn, work boots completed his outfit. She allowed herself the time to look back up him and ended up exactly where she had started. Staring at his handsome and beloved profile.

Slowly a powerful sense of déjà vu overtook her. A scene similar to this one had been enacted, only a mere six months earlier. At the Manor House, with her standing at the base of the front porch steps and the rest of the Bob-Whites clustered together on the porch. She'd surprised them then, with an early arrival for Wedding Week. She was about to surprise them again. There was something oddly comforting in the symmetry of it all. Only this time was much different, in an exceptional way. She didn't dread seeing Jim again. Far from it. She blew out a slow breath and wondered which one was going to notice her first.


	50. Chapter 50

**The Broken Road**

Chapter Fifty

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Grateful for their unconditional support, Mart ran an agitated hand over his cropped hair and shared some of his impatience with his friends. His voice carried over the quietly efficient din of the hospital staff, "Damn it. I can't believe this. We've been here since yesterday evening, for crying out loud. And no baby yet. She's still eight centimeters dilated. Eight centimeters! Good Lord, she's been eight centimeters for most of the morning. And she's working so hard." And she was. Oh, how his heart hurt for Di and the pain she was in. At least she'd been given an epidural a short while ago. It seemed to help. He shook his head before mumbling, "I didn't have a clue it would take this long. I thought we'd have the baby by now."

"Calm down, Mart. These things take time," Brian spoke gently, using his best professional doctor voice. He placed a comforting hand on his younger brother's shoulder and smiled. "First babies generally take a while, you realize. It's going to happen pretty soon now. She's only got two more to go. You're nearing the finish line."

"Yeah. I know that, Brian. But she's been at it since yesterday evening. What happens if the epidural wears off before the good stuff actually starts happening?" Exhaustion and excitement were an odd set of emotions to be experiencing. They were clearly taking their toll on Mart.

"Eight inches," Dan muttered to himself, taking a sip from a cup of coffee. Because they'd all been at the hospital since the evening before, each of them had taken a turn to return home for a shower and a set of fresh clothes while the others manned the fort and supported Mart and Di. Jim had been the last one to go. When he'd returned, he'd brought coffee and Wimpy's hamburgers for everyone for an early lunch. Mike had happily donated the meal to the clan, with the promise that someone call the diner about the baby. The hamburgers and French fries had been polished off in record time by the hungry crew. Dan was one of the few left still nursing his coffee.

"Centimeters, Dan," Honey quietly corrected, trying hard not to giggle. She wasn't certain if it was the lack of consecutive sleep or the stress of the moment that made her find his statement so hysterically funny. Inches, indeed. There was just something so…male about it. "The goal is ten centimeters, not inches."

"I think a whole armada could slip through if it was ten inches," Brian inserted, his deep laughter mingling with his wife's.

Dan let out a small humph of annoyance. Having no intentions of starting a family anytime soon, he hadn't paid the least bit of attention during the previous evening, the extremely long night, and then the next morning of waiting. "Hey. Centimeters. Inches. Seriously, what does it matter? All I can say is I expected to be holding a baby by now."

"You're not the only one." Mart scrubbed a tired hand over his face. While the others continued talking, he lifted his head, suddenly feeling like he was being watched or studied or…something. Wondering if a doctor or nurse or his mother or Di's were coming to fetch him to bring him back to the birthing room, he glanced around the hallway, a frown marring his handsome face. And then he found the source. His eyes grew to twice their normal size. At first his smile faltered and then it spread across his face. Slowly and with a great deal of happiness. All thoughts of weariness vanished like small puffs of smoke in the air. Pushing his own empty container of coffee into the nearest hands, he abruptly left the group, much to the vocal exasperation of the others. He ignored a surprised question from Honey and a ruder demand from Dan and stepped around a chattering set of nurses. His long legs ate up the floor length of tile at an impressive rate.

It fitted that it was Mart. Oh, did it ever. Trixie stayed at the end of the corridor, her smile becoming larger and moisture once again stinging her eyes. When his arms opened to her, she threw herself into them without hesitation. "Oh, Mart!" she murmured, smiling over his shoulder. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught the looks changing from perturbed to astonished. For once, it seemed as if every single person was carved out of stone. Well aware that they'd be descended upon, and quite soon, she whispered near his ear, "Are you a daddy yet?"

A shake of his head served as his answer. "Now I know why Di's been waiting," he replied gruffly. Stepping back, he plucked his old Yankees hat off her head. Definitely more battered, certainly more tattered than it had been when he'd given it to her seven years earlier, right before her flight out to California, he plopped it on his head, the ripped brim facing backwards. He was pleased to see that it still fit. "Nice hat," he said, a cocky grin to his face and joy spilling out from the matching blue of his eyes.

"You can keep it," she informed him, watching him closely while her curls spilled down and around her shoulders, a massive waterfall. She tugged at the edge of her black shirt, watching him closely to see if he caught the implication behind her statement.

He couldn't be blamed for not catching the importance of her words. Tired, weary, elated and excited tended to dull one's intellect. Especially when someone was functioning on only a few patches of sleep here and there. He turned around, his arm slung around her shoulder and called everyone over, his loud voice booming through the corridor and earning more than a few sharp looks of displeasure from the hospital staff, "Guys! Get over here. Look who I found!"

Before chaos could erupt, Brian wrapped a hand around Honey's waist, keeping her from leaping towards her friend, grabbed Dan by the shoulder and ordered the group gruffly, "Waiting room, everyone, right now, before we get kicked out."

Shocked, Honey turned to her husband, her mouth agape and her eyes large. Every fiber of her being wanted to be at Trixie's side, and now. "But…Brian…it's Trixie!"

"Honey, we'll see her in the waiting room," Brian insisted, clamping down on his own urge to welcome his long-lost sister home. Sometimes it sucked being the responsible one. "In a minute. She's not going anywhere. Right now, we've got to get under cover before the staff throws all of us out for causing a disturbance. This is a hospital first and foremost."

He excelled at staying in the background. He'd perfected it during their years of oddly stilted and extremely uncomfortable acquaintance. Once again, he called on his ability. Jim faded against the wall, his attention focused solely on the petite blonde, while he drank in the long-desired sight of her. He could hardly believe it; could almost not fathom it. But she was there, her tinkling laughter mixing with her brother's as they walked arm-in-arm around the frowning staff and towards the small group Brian was currently forcing to the waiting room. She was there. She was real. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered; every bit as vivid and every bit as desirable.

For one split second, their gazes met and collided. His intense emerald to her immense sapphire. The air itself seemed to swell and fill around him. Sounds continued on; excited voices of their friends, quiet, murmured whispers of the staff, the drone of the public address system. He didn't hear a lick of them. All he saw, all he could see, was her beautiful face. Now only an arm's length away from him. He didn't smile; he couldn't. His mouth wasn't capable of doing anything at the moment except gape. But his eyes…Hell, he wondered if she could see the deep yearning, the wealth of love he had stored up for her. And then she was gone, dragged through the waiting room door by her brother.

"She's back." Dan stood at the side of the door. Thanks to Honey's ability to dig in her heels, he'd been able to break free from Brian.

"I know. Oh, God. I know." Jim leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and sent up a quick, fervent prayer of thanks. His first worry was taken care of. She was alive. But then it got better. She was _home. _He couldn't see the utter peace reflected on his face.

But Dan did. For once, he kept his smart mouth closed. He clapped Jim on the shoulder and sauntered his way over to the waiting room, more than eager to see their girl. "You coming or what?" he shot over his shoulder.

Jim held up a single finger, the universal sign for needing one more second. The door swished behind Dan. For that one second, he was blessedly alone. With just his thoughts, just his heart, and only his soul as company. And the trio couldn't have been happier. His lips slanted up at the corners. Knowing it was time, he slipped through the door and into the waiting room.

To her, the atmosphere in the room just went electric. Stifling a gasp, Trixie glanced up the second he came in. For a moment she knew, she simply knew, all her hope and dreams were painted on her face. They had to be. They were so strong, so vital, so potent. But she couldn't read his. Or, more accurately, she didn't allow herself the chance to. Ducking her head quickly, she disentangled herself from the embrace she shared with both Honey and Brian and moved on quick feet to hug Dan. But her attention was focused one hundred and ten percent on the silent man in the room.

"Cutting it kinda close this time, aren't you, Hollywood?" One side of Dan's mouth tilted upwards in his trademark cocky grin. He didn't relinquish her, kept an arm lightly around her waist.

Trixie had the grace to flush. She glanced around guiltily. "Yeah," she admitted slowly. "I guess someone was watching out for me."

"Di would've forgiven you for missing the birth," Honey chimed in excitedly, her lovely topaz eyes alight with the prettiest light. She touched her brother-in-law's hand and joked, "I'm not so sure about Mart here, though. Knowing him the way we all do, I don't think he'd ever have let you live it down."

Trixie followed up a snort with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. She jerked a finger towards her brother. "After all we've been through, I don't think I need to give him any more ammunition against me, thank you very much."

Brian let out a startled laugh. Slipping a hand around his wife's trim waist, he pulled her closer and lightly rested his chin against the top of her head. "He'll still find a way to tease you, though, Trix. Once the euphoria of becoming a new parent wears off."

"Great," she muttered with forced sarcasm because it was expected of her. Really, she couldn't keep the grin off her face. It was beyond ecstatic to be standing in the same room with all of them, laughing and joking and preparing to wait for the first ever baby Bob-White to join their ranks. It only added to the sweetness of the moment that Jim was there, too. Standing off to the side; silent as can be. But he was there. And so was she.

Taking advantage of another hearty round of laughter from Brian and Honey, as well as Mart starting to expound on a list of her teenage exploits, Dan leaned in and murmured near her ear, "Good to finally see you again, Trix. You've got to know I've been worried about you. Really worried. It's been too long. And you've been too quiet."

The words were low and hushed and offered all the proof she needed that he knew more about her mission than the others. As she'd expected, Jim must have brought him up-to-date on her status. She whispered back, answering his unasked question, "Classified."

"Isn't it always?" was his sardonic response.

A smile tugged at her lips, the same carefree smile that shown more on her during her teenage years than through most of her adulthood. It wasn't sad or jaded; it wasn't tired or resigned. Instead, she looked unbelievably open and fresh and caused him to swallow back a shocked gasp. "It doesn't matter, Dan. Not this time."

"Hollywood?" While the others continued to laugh around them, he stared at her with a concentration that was practically tangible. She was trying to tell him something, something big. His senses went on high alert. "Trixie?"

She almost told him he was going to have to create a new nickname for her. _Hollywood _wasn't going to fit her anymore. She opened her mouth to do just that when the door opened again.

"Oh. There you are, Mart." Helen sailed through the doorway, smoothing a hand over her hair and waving him towards her, completely oblivious to the newest arrival in the room. There was a hint of motherly disapproval in her voice and a matching frown on her forehead. "Goodness, I've been looking all over for you. Your wife's been asking for you. She kinda needs you right now. What's been keeping you?"

"Di!" Mart exclaimed loudly, slapping a hand against his forehead. He followed it up with an ugly coarse swear word that had his mother's eyes bulging. When she aimed a narrowed glare his way, he tempered his reaction with a softer one, "Damn. Sorry. I've got to go, Trix. Di needs me." He grabbed his sister by the shoulders, pulled her away from Dan, and gave her another hug. Then he sprinted out the door, an extra bounce to his step that had been missing before, and a whistle under his breath. The off-key rendition sounded suspiciously like _We're Having a Baby_ from a famous _I Love Lucy _episode. His earlier weariness was most definitely a thing of the past.

Trixie? Helen whipped her head around, her agitation with her middle son forgotten. Not when his almost-twin sister was standing a mere five feet from her. She whispered the name she'd given her daughter quietly, reverently. Yet it still took a good ten seconds for the truth to sink in. At first, her feet felt wooden but she gradually picked up speed when she finally comprehended that her daughter was in the room. And then she cried out the name in absolute jubilation. "Trixie!"

"Hi, Moms." Gleeps, she was grateful she wasn't wearing any make-up. With the amount of watering up she was doing, it would have been dribbling down her face. Once again, warm arms wrapped around her, held her as tightly as had been done when she herself was a newborn, in this very hospital. Trixie's heart let out a happy sigh. Sharing an embrace with her mother was exactly what she needed. There was nothing quite like it.

"You made it. Oh my goodness! You made it." Gentle hands framed Trixie's face. Her mother's eyes inspected her closely, stared down into the exact replica of sapphire blue eyes that matched her own. Finding nothing at all amiss other than a little fatigue evidenced by the violet smudges under her daughter's eyes, she enfolded her in her arms again. "I can't believe it. I was beginning to think you weren't going to get here in time."

Her blonde curls shook as she nodded her head, her smile as large and luminous as she could make it. Words started pouring out; apologies for not letting them know ahead of time, "I'm so sorry I didn't call ahead. I've been having some trouble with my cell." The excuse was lame; she knew it the second she uttered it. Any one of the inhabitants in the room could have asked why she hadn't bothered to call before leaving California. She'd simply been too damn busy, closing out her life there. It was all she could concentrate on. Considering the extenuating circumstances, she firmly believed no one would call her on it.

And she was right. No one did. "That's all right, dear. It doesn't matter. I'm just so happy that you're home now!" After another tight hug that practically stole Trixie's breath this time, Helen reluctantly let go and brushed a shaking hand at the tears streaming down her face. Her smile was just a little watery, her words just a little emotional. "Really, really happy."

"Me, too," she answered truthfully. Wanting to get the limelight off of her, and fast, Trixie cleared her throat and announced, "I stopped by the house before coming here."

"Oh! Right. You must have met our newest four-legged addition." Helen's face took on an expression that all new animal owners carried when conversing about their little fur babies.

"She's a cutie," Trixie shared happily. "And absolutely beautiful. I took her for a little walk around the yard before I found the note you left for Bobby."

"So Goldie got outside. Phew!" Relieved, Helen wiped a hand across her forehead. "I was about to send someone out to the house take care of her. I don't want to leave the hospital right now. This isn't the best time. I believe things are going to start happening very quickly for Di and Mart."

_Goldie?_ Trixie mouthed it to Brian, who lifted a resigned shoulder. It appeared their mother came up with notoriously interesting names for their pets. The names Helen gave them always stuck. Names based on their colors. And Goldie was just as good of a name as Reddy had been. Trixie only hoped it didn't doom the poor little pup to a life of extra rambunctiousness. Clearing her throat so she wouldn't laugh at her flustered mother, she questioned with interest, "What's happening with Di?"

"She's getting closer." Not wanting to let go, Helen grasped Trixie's hand and held on. "She's actually moved up to nine centimeters now. The doctor thinks she'll be able to start pushing within the hour. Maybe sooner. That's why Mart needed to get back in there. None of us will be seeing him again until he's holding his little baby."

"Moms?" Ever the doctor, Brian inched in closer, wanting to know all the details. "Tell me what's happening."

As Brian questioned his mother about the newest information on Di, Trixie stepped back as unobtrusively from the circle as she could manage. She wasn't very successful. Both Dan and Honey stared after her with twin expressions of pure glee reflected on their faces. She couldn't fool them. She crinkled her nose at them, gave them her back and found herself close to Jim, the only person she hadn't officially greeted yet. Or who hadn't greeted her. It was really a matter of perspective, she thought with a hysterical sort of an inner chuckle she somehow managed to stifle. Her first word to him wasn't all that imaginative or interesting. Her voice went soft, slightly unsure of herself, but her eyes were big and studied him closely, hungrily drinking him in. "Hi."

She only said a single word to him. Only one word, and in a breathy sort of a way. And yet…and yet…it shot straight through him, bringing him more peace and tranquility than anything he'd ever heard in his life. After all, it was _her _speaking to him. Live and in the flesh. What more could he want? Only a lifetime of her, was the blinding thought. "Hi," he responded back, unconsciously matching his tone to hers.

If she reached out her hand, she could touch him. An old jingle from a television commercial ran through her mind. She shook her head to clear it away and stupidly repeated the same word yet again, "Hi."

It made the edges of his lips lift up ever so slightly. Now was not the place to engage her in the conversation he wanted them to have; no, they needed to have that particular conversation when they were alone, with no thoughts of interruption. Where they could concentrate on each other. But he could still look. The long curl dangling over her forehead looked awfully tempting. He curled his fingers into the palm of his hand to keep from tugging it. "I see you made it home."

"A long time coming," she immediately replied. The simple statement was unplanned and much more honest than he realized. Gleeps, it was a long time coming. Seven years. Seven years where she'd learned to stand on her own, to be her own person, to create her own life. Now, though, now was a time for change. A huge change. Because her life wasn't complete without him in it.

Because he was practically dying to dive his hands into the gleaming golden bounty that was her hair, he stuffed them into the front pockets of his jeans. Aware that they didn't have much more time before the others either started eavesdropping, inspecting them, or interrupting their conversation, he whispered lowly, for her ears only, "You know we need to talk."

She hadn't expected something so direct from him. But one sharp look into his face showed her how wrong she'd been. Yes, she knew. They most definitely needed to talk. Her lips wouldn't form the sentence so she nodded her head dumbly instead. Caught by the overwhelmingly intense expression in his eyes, she catalogued everything about him; was pleased to find that he looked exactly as she remembered him to be. And, oh, how she remembered him. His face, his voice, his lopsided grin, his kisses. Oh, dear God. His touch. Every single thing. _He_ was what got her through the uncertain days and the long nights that plagued her last mission.

"Not here. Not now," he responded to her unasked question, totally unaware that he was watching her with barely concealed desire. His hands fisted in his pockets. Sweet Mother of God, he wanted to touch those spiraling golden curls of hers, to bury his hands in them and then tug her towards him…and then…and then…He viciously pulled himself back with a jerk from the fantasy he was about to have right in front of her. It didn't help matters when an amused snicker came from one of the other occupants in the room told him their private time was most definitely up. "After the excitement dies down and we can be alone."

"All right," she agreed inanely, internally castigating herself for her inability to string together nothing more than a simple phrase while in his presence. It seemed her mouth and her brain didn't want to cooperate together right now. Probably because neither could ignore the loud, almost painful thumping of her heart. She was surprised it didn't pound right out of her chest and land on the floor like a tribal offering to him.

"Later." His single word carried much more power, much more promise than the most decorated dissertation in academia history. He wanted more; wanted her all to himself. Hell, they both deserved more. But, at such a monumental moment in all their collective lives, it wasn't about to happen. Not yet. They needed to concentrate on the new life about to be born, on the family surrounding them. As hard as it was going to be, they needed to be patient.

Helen's voice rang out through the room, a whole octave higher than her normal range. "Oh, Trixie! Your father! Wait until I tell him that you're home! I've simply got to go find him now. I think he went out for some coffee with your father, Honey. I'll see if I can track them down now." A mother of four adult children, Helen practically skipped to the door, her dimples winking by the sides of her beamingly bright smile. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Don't you dare move a muscle."

Trixie couldn't be disappointed that her conversation, if that's what it could indeed be termed, had been terminated. Her mother was simply too damn adorable. And so incredibly happy. If ever there was a person floating on cloud nine, it was Helen Belden right now. Trixie's warm giggles filled the air. "Tell Daddy I'll be right here. I promise."

Right here. Jim adored the sound of those words coming from her unpainted lips. Then he noticed that she hadn't left him to rejoin the others. No, she was still standing in close proximity to him. Her hands were idly tapping out a rhythm only she heard against her thighs. And she didn't appear to be in any hurry to shy away from him. Pretty damn good deal, he figured and, because he could feel the damn snarky grin on Dan's face, he half-turned and offered his friend a two-fingered salute in acknowledgement. The sign was clear. He wasn't backing away from Trixie, no matter what anyone thought or the amount of ribbing someone would give him.

Brian wasn't immune to the by-play between his sister and his best friend. The way he saw it, you'd have to blind to miss it. Or extremely excited. Because the only person who hadn't paid the couple the least bit of attention had been his mother, who'd just pranced her way out of the room. He eyed them with a serious amount of brotherly concern in his dark eyes, opened his mouth to let the questions fly, and was interrupted himself by his own wife…

Who stomped on his foot. Hard. "Quiet," she ordered him through a wide, almost normal smile, her usually soft eyes hard and demanding. No way was she letting her husband ruin Jim and Trixie's reunion.

Over the years he'd witnessed his mother do the same thing to his father when she very clearly disagreed with him. Never had he experienced it himself, though. Never. He stared in some surprise at Honey, inwardly wondering if it was something all Belden women must simply learn to do once they married into the family. "Honey," he began, not wanting to be put off. After all, Trixie was _his _sister. And he'd be damned before he'd let her get hurt again.

Trying to distract him, and not wanting to embarrass either Trixie or Jim in the process, she twined her arms around his neck and pitched her voice low; seductive, "I've got lots to tell. If you're good, I'll tell you all I know. _At home_."

Short of interrogating his sister, who was notoriously stubborn, or hog-tying his friend, who employed a famously fierce temper when roused, Brian ruefully decided to let the matter go. Besides, it was much more fun to get information out of his wife, especially when she was currently nuzzling his neck. "You'd better."

She pressed a little kiss on the sensitive skin underneath his ear, causing his eyes to cross, and pulled him down onto an old, and quite ugly, sofa someone had so thoughtfully donated to the hospital years earlier. Smiling brightly, aware of exactly what she was doing, she murmured, "Dr. Belden. Do I ever renege on a promise?"

Not wanting to watch her best friend neck with her brother, Trixie shuddered with not entirely feigned disgust and turned away. She sank down onto the nearest chair and closed her eyes tight to block out the image. "Now that's something I don't need to ever see again."

"At least now you know how I felt." Dan was right there, smiling playfully at them, and obviously unembarrassed and completely willing to bring up their time together. In Vegas. While other family members were in the room.

First she blushed ten mottled shades of red. Not pink. But bright, bright red. Then her mouth dropped open. "Dan…" she put in warningly, hoping no one else had heard him.

Jim didn't stop to think. He took the chair right next to her and glared at his friend over the top of her bent head. "Mangan. You've got a hell of a way with words."

"One of my talents." Dan brushed his fingers against his shirt and then blew on them. "My many talents, you understand."

"Damn. You're such a jack-ass," Jim shook his head and released a sharp bark of laughter.

"Hey. I know what I know. And I am what I am." The less than flattering term didn't bother him. Stretching out his long legs, Dan made himself comfortable. A shadow flickered by the window. He lifted up the blinds to peek through, saw who it belonged to, and turned back to Jim, sporting a mile-wide grin. Hell, he loved stirring the pot. It was probably the jack-ass in him. "Frayne, you're just going to adore who's going to be coming through that door in about ten seconds."

Jim's back went ramrod straight. All traces of humor vanished. Peter Belden. It had to be. He remembered their last conversation well. The one they shared at the baby shower. The one where he'd finally answered the hanging question from the rehearsal dinner. The one where he told the banker that he was in love with his daughter; that he had always loved her. That he was always going to love her. And now the man's daughter was sitting right next to him, looking surprisingly comfortable. And Dan was a few chairs away, beginning to laugh his ass off.

"In here, Peter!" Helen pushed a grumbling Peter through the doorway. "And, for heaven's sake, smile!" Then she hurried away in a mad dash, obviously on her way back to check on Di, and didn't wait to witness her husband's reaction.

"Helen?" Stunned by his wife's unprecedented maneuverings, Peter glanced around the room. He saw Honey and Brian. Dan and…his upper lip curled up in disdain. Other than driving past him on Glen Road or seeing him from a distance in one of the stores in town, he hadn't had any contact with the redhead who was now his neighbor, twice over. Then he slid his eyes to the silent woman sitting beside Jim. Incredibly, he forgot the annoying man's presence. Instead, he himself resided in a total state of simple shock. "Princess?"

She stood up on knees threatening to weaken. Home was never home until her father called her princess. "Hi, Daddy."

Suddenly understanding why Helen had dragged him away from Matthew and the conversation they'd been having, he crossed the room in three great big strides, his face wreathed in a great big smile. He had her up in his arms and swung his adult daughter around like he used to when she was a toddler. "My God! You're here."

"And happy to be home, too," she added, stepping back within the circle of his arms to study her father. There was a little more gray sprinkled within his head of hair. Maybe a few more wrinkles on his face than there used to be. But to her he looked just as he always had. Her father. She hugged him again and giggled. "I met Goldie."

"She's quite the puppy," he murmured sarcastically, remembering a certain Italian leather loafer the golden retriever had confiscated on her second day in the household. It appeared that she was going to give Reddy a run for his money. He shook his head. His laugh carried a remorseful quality to it. "I couldn't tell your mother no. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"I thought so." Trixie's heart seemed full to overflowing. She was just so happy. "Is Bobby around? I haven't seen him yet."

"He's here, somewhere. Probably found a private spot to _talk _with Whitney," he muttered, his eyes taking on a dark, fatherly light.

From his vantage point, Jim had a good look at Peter Belden's expression. It actually did his heart good to know that he wasn't the only one to put such a glower on the older man's face. Although, he couldn't help but wonder how the man would react when he finally acknowledged his presence. Right next to his daughter, no less. He held his breath, not wanting to draw any attention. He wasn't stupid. But he wasn't giving up his spot, either.

Trixie choked. She understood what her father meant by _talk_. It was awful hard to think of her little brother in such terms. "Oh," was all that came out of her suddenly dry mouth.

Peter almost went off on a tangent about how he hoped to hell they weren't doing the maternity ward thing again in nine months, with Bobby and Whitney as the prospective parents this time around. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair, opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. The damn neighbor of his was standing up. Right next to his daughter.

Ah…Jim realized there were times when he was quite wrong. There was nothing quite like the special scowl the older man reserved just for him. He almost retook his seat. Almost. "Mr. Belden," he grumbled out, much to Dan's dark amusement. Even Brian and Honey were trying hard not to chuckle and they usually worked hard to buffer the animosity Peter Belden often displayed towards him.

Blessedly immune to it all, Trixie placed her hands on her hips and complained, "When are they going to change that stupid light in the center of town? Do you know I was stuck there for a good five minutes on the way to the hospital?"

Peter didn't hear her. He was in the process of wishing for his ax. Or a knife. Maybe an ice-pick. Hell, he'd settle for a toothpick. Anything. But then his eldest son, the doctor, cleared his throat, and he had to put his less than charitable thoughts on hold. It simply wouldn't do; especially when they were all there to celebrate the birth of his first grandchild; a granddaughter. Murder and mayhem held no place in the hospital. "What'd you say, Princess?"

"The traffic light. In town?" She looked at him in concern. Maybe he was tired or something; not that she was surprised. Everyone had been at the hospital for an exceptionally long time.

"The joys of small town living, Trixie," Peter shared. If he concentrated only on her, he didn't have any trouble smiling at all. But it did majorly suck when she sat down again. And Jim immediately followed suit. With only a stupid old arm rest separating her and…_him_. "It'll never change. That light has been that way for as long as I can remember. I think it's officially considered part of the ambiance of Sleepyside living now."

"I guess I'll have to get used to it again." Her voice was as light as her laughter.

Jim's eyebrows shot up. He turned to face her, to question her about the implications, when the door blew open yet again. This time it was Mr. and Mrs. Lynch coming through.

"The doctor kicked us out," Mrs. Lynch announced excitedly, her chest heaving and her eyes wild with anticipation. She fanned a hand in front of her flushed face. "All of us. He kicked us out of the room! Oh. Oh! It's so exciting. Only Mart could stay. Everyone else had to leave."

Brian jumped up. When his mother joined them, with the Wheelers only a few paces behind, he smiled in total understanding. "Di's ready to push."

"Most definitely." Now a permanent resident on that famed cloud, Helen floated back into the room, beaming bright. She could have powered every single operating room with the amount of excitement pouring off of her. "It was the funniest thing, actually. She'd just finished up one heck of a contraction. It looked like a painful one, too, when she finally got a good look at Mart." She paused to laugh at the memory. "Right in the middle of it all, Di stopped and asked him in the most shocked voice I've ever heard where on earth he'd ever found such an ugly hat! Even the doctor started laughing!"

Helen's tinkling laughter was contagious. Joining in, Trixie didn't think about it. She laced her fingers through the hand resting next to hers on the armrest. When he squeezed her hand in response, her giggles came to an abrupt end. She gave a shocked little gasp that only her father heard. Lifting incredibly clear eyes up to Jim, she stared at him, wide-eyed and in full wonder. He merely smiled enigmatically back at her and held on tight, unwilling to relinquish his hold. She felt the warmth of his touch all the way through her. She couldn't look away. Neither could he. Her voice was a suddenly raspy whisper as she murmured an unbreakable promise to him, "Later."


	51. Chapter 51

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fifty-One

The third floor window overlooked a tiny cement courtyard. Brushing back the thin blinds, Trixie glanced out but didn't notice a set of brightly colored leaves gently sway their way towards the ground. She didn't see the small group of nurses clustered together on the benches, taking advantage of their afternoon break time. With a loud sigh, she let the blinds fall and turned away, her impatience getting the better of her, and edged a hip onto the window sill. It was her impatience, as well as her need for some serious exercise, that had forced her out of the crowded waiting room a short while ago. She needed to do…something. Anything. A walk had helped. Blowing out a frustrated breath, she grumbled lowly, "When are we going to have this baby?"

A tinkling laugh belonging to one seriously amused Honey Wheeler Belden was her answer. "It's a good thing you've only been here for a few hours, Trix," she replied with a lively grin, sitting down next to her friend. She placed her freshly opened can of Diet Pepsi on the ledge and crossed one ankle over the other. "I can only imagine what you'd look like if you'd been here from the very beginning."

"Hah, hah," Trixie shot back with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. A narrowed look down both sides of the hallway showed no activity. Nothing came from the waiting room; nothing came from the direction of Di's birthing room. The only people moving about were the small contingent of nurses manning the desk…which meant no news about the baby. She growled impatiently. "I shouldn't be surprised that it's taking so long. Punctual is generally not a word I'd use to describe Di."

Delighted to be chatting with her very best friend of all time, a luxury that fate didn't seem to afford her too much anymore, Honey laughed again. "You can say that again. Although I'm sure this is one time Di would have preferred to be on time. She's anxious for the baby to come. She's been pretty uncomfortable the past few weeks, you know."

No, she most certainly did not know. Trixie's smile gradually faded away. Guilt started to lick away at her, like it always did when her private life warred with her professional one. She squeezed her eyes shut while internally reminding herself that there was nothing she could have changed. Her former job always took precedence over her personal life. Always. Which was one of the main reasons why it was past time to give it up and time for her to move on. She needed the stability of home. Meeting Honey's concerned gaze without flinching, she murmured quietly, "I meant to tell you that I'm sorry I didn't make it back to help out with the baby shower. I really wish I could have been there."

Honey couldn't mistake the sincerity glimmering within the sapphire eyes before her. With the gentleness and tact she was known for, she waved an airy hand, unwilling to press the issue. "Don't worry about it, Trix. The day was a huge success. We have a ton of pictures to prove it. I'll email them to you when I get the chance. Believe it or not, even the boys had fun." The memories of the day sent joy straight through her. "I don't think they expected to at first, what with it being a baby shower and all, but…they loosened up after awhile. Can you believe it? Mart even won one of the party games!"

Relieved, Trixie offered up a quick wink and an even quicker chuckle. "I have to say that the _enlightened_ baby shower idea had me practically rolling with laughter the second Mart told me about it. At first I wasn't sure what our mothers were thinking."

"Oh, I know exactly what they were thinking. And are still thinking," Honey put in, giving her head a gentle shake. Pitching her voice low for dramatic purposes, she revealed, "They knew what they were doing. They set an important precedent, one which all three of them will demand to be met. From here on out, any other showers will be co-ed, too. They want the entire family present. Not just the female members. No, they want everybody."

"Yep. My thoughts, too." Trixie had to bite her lip to keep from chuckling. Hell, it felt so good, felt so normal, to be chatting away the time with Honey, and laughing over foolish things. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long, long time. "I still find it hard to believe none of the boys backed out."

"They couldn't. They would have had to face the combined wrath of all of our mothers. None of them wanted that. Believe me. They all made it," Honey replied cheerfully. But then an impish spark lit up her eyes. Going for casual, she picked up her can of soda and twirled a finger around the circle, pretending that the can was made out of crystal instead of aluminum. She could almost hear the whispery, musical sound. "For a while there, the only hold-out appeared to be Jim. He didn't show up until a good forty-five minutes after it started."

Despite her extensive training, Trixie started. Just a little bit. Just enough for Honey to see that her apparently innocent mention of Jim hit its mark. Needing a distraction, and needing it quite badly, Trixie blindly reached out. Luck was with her. She grabbed her own can of soda. Strawberry pop, commandeered for her by one thoughtful younger brother. Or maybe he'd just wanted an excuse to get away from the others with only Whitney at his side. Either way, she enjoyed the sweet strawberry taste as it slid down her throat. "Umm. Well, good, then," she fumbled clumsily for a response, suddenly finding the worn tiled floor extremely fascinating.

Because Trixie wasn't looking anywhere near her, Honey allowed a triumphant grin to cross her face. She swallowed her answering chuckle, though. She didn't want to press her luck too much. "Yes," she chirped out blithely, eyeing Trixie the whole time with the intensity of a circling hawk preparing to go in for the kill. Jim would have recognized the look. It was the exact same one she'd given him the day she'd cornered him in his office. "He was late. But he did have a pretty good excuse for his tardiness. If I remember correctly, he had another meeting with his contractor about his house up at Ten Acres. You remember he was building up there, right?"

How could she forget? The floor plans she'd accidentally knocked off a desk in Mr. Wheeler's den six months ago flashed vividly before her eyes. Trixie nearly wrinkled her nose in disgust. A log cabin. A nice enough plan. A nice enough style. A nice enough house. She admitted it all but…Oh, to hell with it. Who was she kidding? It simply wasn't the house she wanted ruling over Ten Acres. It wasn't a…she sucked in a pained breath, ordering herself to not even go there. It couldn't matter. Or at least that's what she tried to convince herself. "Yeah," she bit out with more of a snap to her tone than was warranted.

The lovely topaz eyes brightened with mirthful pleasure. Oh, yeah. The smile reigning over her face matched perfectly. Well aware that she had struck quite a chord within Trixie, Honey decided to pluck it a little further, wanting to see how far she could take it. If she got some more information about the current state of Trixie and Jim's relationship, she'd consider herself even luckier. But she was savvy and she was smart. She kept the exultation out of her tone. "It wasn't an easy process, the building and the what-not. I think it cost more than Jim originally planned to pay for it, too. It is finished, though. In case you were curious." She paused expectantly and waited patiently for Trixie to respond, her eyelashes fluttering wildly.

Dying to know, but knowing that asking would be a way of giving away a little too much, it took a good thirty seconds before Trixie relented. With an annoyed scowl tainting her face, she grumbled out the most obvious question, staring down at a small speck of dust on the floor, "What does the house look like?"

"I can't rightly say," Honey responded with a drawn out little sigh. She almost brought the back of her hand to her forehead but thought the action might be a little too over-dramatic. After all, Trixie wasn't stupid. Far from it. "With Brian's slightly insane work schedule, we haven't been able to visit the new and improved Ten Acres, as Dan's been billing it. Not yet. We were hoping to stop by for a visit today but we've spent Brian's entire day off here, ironically enough, at the hospital. Can't imagine why," she added dryly, quirking her lips.

Not wanting Honey to get a good look at her face, Trixie lifted her head from the floor and glanced out the window. She watched a leaf as it blew off a branch and began its mesmerizing descent, where it gradually joined the others on the ground. And she quietly bemoaned the fact that Honey was not easily offering up any information. Apparently, she'd only answer if Trixie asked. To put it plainly, that stung. She hated having to grovel for information. Especially to her best friend. As the silence stretched on, it became clearer and clearer that was what Honey expected her to do. It looked like she was back to instigating. How she despised instigating. She gave in with ill grace. "Has Jim moved into his house yet?"

Honey understood Trixie well; picking her for information was not easy. God, it must be killing her. For some reason, the realization amused Honey to no end. She didn't have an ounce of sympathy for Trixie's plight. Not a single ounce. "About four days ago," she answered, her voice as sing-songy light as she could make it. Enough to set Trixie's nerves a-jingling. Grinning maniacally into her can, she finished off the rest of her soda and used the swing of her honey-colored hair to disguise her amusement. A well-timed cough covered up a runaway chuckle.

"What…" Even as she damned herself for asking, Trixie didn't have the power or the self-control to stop herself. Damn it, she needed to know. She needed to find out everything she could about Jim. She pushed herself off the ledge and inquired in a grating tone, "What about his apartment? In the city?"

"Oh!" Honey exclaimed, making her eyes entirely too innocent. She even threw in another fancy flutter of her long lashes for good measure. Anything to further provoke Trixie. "You don't know, do you? I mean, how could you? After all, you just returned home a few hours ago."

Fed up with the irritating song and dance routine, Trixie whirled around, her blue eyes once again flashing with impatience. "Honey Belden," she declared, slamming her hands on her curvy hips and jutting out her stubborn chin. "How the hell could I know? Anything? You know I haven't been in contact with anyone…for months now."

"True. Very true," Honey nodded her head sagely, enjoying her torment of Trixie and the obvious effect it was creating. Her friend was seriously entertaining when she was miffed. "You don't have to beat around the bush, I hope you know. You can just ask me anything you want to know. Anything. Believe me, I will gladly tell you. Anything," she repeated again. Smiling serenely, she inclined her head to the side and invited her to continue the questioning period with an elaborate flourish of her wrist.

Good Lord, her friend could be such an ass sometimes. Trixie grumbled; low, loud and severely displeased. But she knew she was going to do it; even before the words started tumbling out of her mouth. She knew she was going to ask about Jim. It wasn't merely a matter of curiosity; no, it was a matter of necessity. She had to know. Especially since Honey was now looking like that famed cat who swallowed the unfortunate canary. With belligerence clearly stated in every line of her body, she snarled out past her clenched teeth, "Does he still have his apartment in the city?"

"Oh, no. Not anymore." Pretending to inspect her recent manicure, Honey blew on her fingernails. A small devil in her wouldn't allow her to offer any more information. It was much too much enjoyable watching Trixie simmer and stew.

Her blue eyes carried an uneasy mixture of surprise and vexation. Since Honey wasn't going to share any information without a direct question first, she ungraciously posed the next one, her demeanor even more irritable than before, "Is he commuting to work from Sleepyside?"

"Now why on earth would he want to do that?" Apparently finding the idea of Jim commuting to New York City every day extremely hilarious, Honey tossed her head back and let out a loud set of jovial giggles that were purposefully meant to be infuriating.

"So…he must be working from home?" The edges of her lips curled down. Gleeps, she wasn't going to be left with any dignity. Not when Honey was through with her.

"Nope. Not at all." Done with inspecting her nails, she turned the full force of her attention on Trixie. And waited for Trixie to draw the only possible, logical conclusion. How would she react? Through narrowed eyes, Honey couldn't accurately predict her reaction.

Just as she expected, it didn't take long. Trixie whipped her head up. Her curls flew in a haphazard mass around her face before she hurriedly stuffed them behind her ears. As usual, they immediately disobeyed and fell back to frame her face. She didn't notice. A hand snapped out, wrapped around Honey's elbow and tugged her closer. "Honey Belden," she began warningly. "Are you trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me right here?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything at all," Honey replied, seeing the awareness creeping with blazing speed across Trixie's face. Shocking Trixie was quite a feat. "You already know. My God, Trix. You've always had excellent instincts, especially when it comes to a mystery, big or little. So, why don't you tell me what you've figured out? What conclusions have you come to?"

She spoke slowly, hardly daring to believe the words that were coming from her mouth. "Jim's not working in the city. He's not commuting to the city. He's not working from his house in Sleepyside, either. He's…" Trixie stopped; stunned by the only possible answer her intelligent brain could come up with.

"Not working. In other words, he's currently unemployed," Honey helpfully supplied for her. She leaned in closer. Because of the astonished expression stamped vividly across Trixie's face, she offered quietly, finished with tormenting her, "He turned in his resignation to my father during the summer. If I remember correctly, it would have happened right around the time of the baby shower. However, Jim being Jim, he stayed on longer to help train his replacement. He only left the company very recently."

Oh. My. God. Jim resigned from his position. From his father's company. The information sank in with a great deal of shock intermixed with a huge side helping of disbelief. Pressing her fingers against the soft fabric of her pants, Trixie blew out a long, steadying breath. It took quite an effort for her to murmur, "Oh, woe."

"My thoughts exactly," Honey shared with her. Since they were still amazingly alone, an odd achievement to accomplish within a large, boisterous clan such as theirs, she hastened to add, "Jim hasn't shared any possible job plans with any of us. None of us have a clue about what he wants to do next or what his plans are. All he's said is that he's going to concentrate on finishing his house right now. He seems extremely content without having any job prospects right now."

Content? There was that word again. She remembered it vividly from their talk out on the bluffs during a pretty April day. Content. But she wanted him to do so much more than mere contentment. And she wanted him to experience it all. With her. She leveled a twin gaze of serious blue on Honey. Could the surprises get any larger? Trixie didn't think so. "He doesn't have any plans? Jim Frayne? Our Jim Frayne?"

"Not a single one." She inched closer until their hips touched on the sill. Now it was time to ferret out some information that wasn't quite so…sisterly. If Trixie hadn't been so shocked by Jim's resignation, she would have caught on sooner. And most likely would have immediately bolted for safety. Ready to get to the heart of the matter, Honey put a surprisingly strong hand on Trixie's elbow, keeping her in place in case she should decide to take off, and said in a confidential voice, "I'd have trouble believing it myself. If…"

The _if_ hung in the air just a little too long for Trixie's liking. For the second time, her senses went on full alert. "If?" she parroted, not certain if she should take the bait or not. Her eyes slid towards the waiting room. Suddenly, the area appeared extremely inviting to her. Safety in numbers. There was always safety in numbers. And there were an awful lot of people inside that room, who'd be more than willing to engage in a conversation with her. _Jim_ was inside. He'd help her out. She knew it. She would have made a dash for it if Honey hadn't increased the pressure on her arm.

"If I hadn't seen the way he looked. When he came back. From California," Honey stressed the last word purposefully, staring pointedly at her friend. All merry pretence was gone; she wanted Trixie to understand. She knew. She damn well knew what happened between the two of them during Jim's vacation. But she wanted to hear it from Trixie herself.

"Oh." Her mouth fluttered open and then closed and repeated itself a few more times for good measure. Trixie glanced up weakly, a bright pink highlighting her cheeks. From the description Heidi and Jocelyn had both given her about Jim, he hadn't appeared happy about the news behind her sudden departure from San Diego. He'd been upset, distressed and worried. Very, very worried. She could only imagine what he'd look like upon his return to New York. Probably like death warmed over. She could relate. She'd had to counteract the exact same feeling in order to put on her professional front for her mission. "Gleeps."

"Oh, gleeps," Honey echoed back the two words with a smart little bite to her voice, only with a little more force than Trixie had employed. Her hair swung from shoulder to shoulder as she shook her head and pointed an aristocratic finger right underneath Trixie's nose. "There's no use in trying to throw me off guard here. I'm warning you right now. I already know. Everything."

Oh, but she didn't. Not quite everything. However, a Honey Wheeler Belden being privy to a few significant bits and pieces of information was just as dangerous. This time she chewed on her bottom lip. "The phone call," she mumbled to herself, remembering the one Jim had unintentionally intercepted for her. The morning…no, the afternoon…after their 'wedding night'. The blush blossomed in intensity.

"Exactly," Honey answered with a great deal of cheer. "It's got to be the best call I've ever made. Somehow, I highly doubt if I'd ever found out that you and Jim were shacking up together in Vegas without it."

Shacking up? The size of her eyes doubled. "Honey!" she gasped, shocked at her friend's choice of words.

Taking pity, she dropped an arm over Trixie's shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Hey. Jim told me…well, not quite _everything_, if you know what I mean. He didn't take the time to paint a perfectly clear picture of what happened between the two of you in Vegas, darn his little soul, but he told me enough for me to infer exactly what happened between you too, if you catch my meaning. So I do know. Just not all of the spicy, salacious, sensational details. Understand?"

Trixie thought she did. Years of being friends helped her follow the rather convoluted explanation. She nodded dumbly. Even simple, monosyllabic words were momentarily beyond her capacity.

A wide smile adorned Honey's face while she settled on one thought. Her brother and her best friend. Together again. It would be like the completion of a circle. If only they could make it happen, make it stick. Make it right. This time, she had extremely high hopes for the couple. She caught Trixie's hand. "All I can say is…it's about time, Trix. About damn time."

She cleared her throat. "Yeah," she replied weakly, wondering if her face was as red as it felt.

Honey didn't pay any attention to Trixie's obvious embarrassment. "Now, this is pure speculation here, but I have a feeling, a strong feeling, that the week you had together is exactly why Jim wanted to stop working for our father. You finally gave him the momentum he needed to change the course he's been set on for the past few years."

A fair enough assessment. After all, Jim had given her the impetus she'd needed to leave her job, too. There was something strangely comforting in the belief. Now they merely had to steal some time away from the others and broach the subject. Together. Trixie's heart started to race; with nerves tinted with anticipation and eagerness. The conversation they needed to have was more daunting and more difficult than her last mission. And, yet, infinitely more momentous. She couldn't force any sound past her suddenly dry mouth.

"You can't go back to California without talking to him about this," Honey lectured, wagging a pointed finger under Trixie's nose. "I'm warning you ahead of time. I don't care if I have to kidnap you, lock you in the old clubhouse or put you in one of those abandoned buildings accumulating out there in the preserve. You are _not _leaving Sleepyside without resolving everything with Jim. Not this time. Not ever again. I have a lot of people who will back me up on this, too. You won't be able to get away. We'll keep you here." She let out a low bob-white whistle and declared haughtily, just daring her to protest, "Bob-White honor."

Tucking her hands into her pockets, she stared Honey directly in the face and inhaled slowly. The words came easy. "Honey, you don't have to make any serious plans under the cover of moonlight or put a sedative in my drink. I've already solved it for you. You see, I'm not going back to California. Not this time. I'm home." A sense of peace came over her, proving how wonderful her decision to return home was. It felt so refreshingly sweet to be saying the simple words. "To stay."

Catching Honey off guard was an experience never to be missed. First her eyes slowly grew to twice their normal size. Then her mouth fell open. Her skin went glassy pale before a lovely pink quickly refilled it. And the small squeak of surprise made Trixie smile hesitatingly. She reached out, touched her suddenly quiet friend on the shoulder. "Honey?"

First tapping one ear, then the other, to make sure she'd heard correctly, Honey shook her head. Satisfied her weak knees were going to support her; she stepped forward until she was right in front of Trixie. Grateful for her extra few inches of height, she stared down, a glimmer of happy tears already swelling in her eyes. She believed; even before she asked, she believed. "You're…home? To…stay? Like…permanently?"

A smile, beautiful and bright, spread across Trixie's face. "I am home, Honey. I'm not going back. I resigned from the agency. I've already sold my house and my car. The sale won't be officially final for a week or two yet but…yeah, it's as good as done. I really am staying. Right here. Right in Sleepyside," she clarified when Honey continued to stare at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings.

"Well," Honey murmured, not quite sure what to say next. In the short span of two minutes, Trixie had managed to smash all of her carefully arranged interrogation plans. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter in the least. She let out a high-pitched sound that should have decimated the sound barrier, much to the outraged chagrin of the nearby nurses who aimed a frosty glare at them, and gleefully threw her arms around Trixie. Their giggles combined to make a beautiful sound. "That's the best news I've heard in a very long time!"

After nodding at the trio of annoyed nurses sitting at the desk, causing more than one of them to silently sigh in response, Dan sauntered over towards a hugging Honey and Trixie, his fourth cup of coffee for the day clutched in his hands. Chortling to himself, he admitted that there must be a plethora of caffeine currently chugging through his veins. He stopped a few feet away and admired the sight of the women entwined together in what could only be termed a jubilant embrace. "Hey, girls," he called out, interrupting them without an ounce of guilt. "What are you celebrating? Did I miss it? Do we have any news on the baby front yet?"

"No. You didn't miss anything. There's no news about the baby. Not yet." Honey swiped a finger underneath her eyes, wiping away some of the moisture spilling out, and turned a watery smile to Dan. "Trixie, here, has some absolutely, positively, perfectly perfect news to share. Don't you?"

Trixie was jolted forward by the slight push at her back. "Honey!" she exclaimed, not completely sure if she was ready to tell anyone else yet or not.

Employing a move made famous by the currently scowling Belden, Honey rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation. "Goodness, Trix. Like he's not going to find out sooner or later. Come on. Have a heart. Let me tell him. It'll make my day."

How could she deny her? She couldn't. Trixie nodded once. "Fine, Honey. Go for it."

Biting back a charming giggle, Honey stepped forward and, with a flourish of her hands, announced to their interested audience, "Daniel Mangan, allow me to present to you the newest resident of Glen Road, Miss Beatrix Belden."

"Resident? You mean…" For once, words utterly failed him. Dark, obsidian eyes flew to Trixie. She couldn't say a word; could only find the strength to nod her head again. Momentarily staggered, extremely shocked, it took a while for his mouth to catch up to his mind. When it did, he rasped out in amazement, "What the hell. Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me?"

"No. She's not. I'm not. I'm really back. I'm here." The sight of their normally cool and collected friend looking so unaccountably shocked made her smile. In response, her words poured out in a torrent. "I'm not going back. At least, not back to work. I resigned, Dan. From the agency. I'm done with California. I'm ready to stay home."

His eyebrows winged up. He'd hoped; Lord, how he'd hoped, but he'd never truly expected her to give the whole secret agent thing up. What it took…the strength; the desire. He marveled at her. Slowly, the edges of his lips curved upwards. A special spark lit up his eyes. Knowing she'd given up more than the normal private investigative job everyone else thought she had, he grabbed her and pulled her in for a tight, celebratory hug. "Damn, Trix! I'm so proud of you. So very proud of you."

His response warmed her. She stepped back from the circle of his arms. Once again, she found herself blinking away fresh tears. Because he knew the full truth, his words of praise meant a lot to her. Through a voice thick with unshed emotion, she whispered hoarsely, "Thanks, Dan. That means a lot."

"It also makes you the lone Bob-White who hasn't flown back home." Honey leveled a contemplative stare on him, wondering if she could nudge him in that direction. It would be wonderful if all seven of them would be within short driving distance of each other. Exactly like it was supposed to be. "So? What do you think? Are you up for making us a complete bevy of seven again or what?"

Dan inclined his head to the side and smoothly side-stepped the question. "Hey. What can I say? Who can tell what fate has in store for each of us?"

Trixie grinned up at him and winked as she proposed an idea. Maybe he'd go for it; maybe he wouldn't. All she knew was that she wouldn't mind working with him. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how much she'd love it. He would make detectiving extremely entertaining. And fun. And successful. Gleeps, he'd be a wonderful match. "If I could steal you away from the DEA, maybe you'd like to go into business with me. Belden & Mangan. What do you think? How does that sound?"

Intriguing. Very, very intriguing. Dan lifted his head up, stunned by the proposition. Was she serious? He couldn't accurately tell. But the idea itself…wasn't half-bad. No, it really wasn't. In fact, it was becoming downright tempting. Partnering with her would be…incredible. His eyes darkened as the idea took firm root and grew. He tried to laugh it off, he truly did, but he knew that he'd have something serious to think about, once the whole baby business was finished. He hid his burgeoning interest behind a joke. "You'd have to rethink the name. Somehow, I don't think BM is exactly the term you'd want potential clients using to address the agency."

Honey could barely contain her excitement. She clasped her hands together, excitement pouring off of her in waves, and battled the urge to jump up and down like a schoolgirl. Trixie and Dan working together would be perfectly perfect. Not only would Trixie finally get to have her detective agency, something Honey had always carried a small smidgeon of guilt over, but she'd also have a wonderful partner in Dan. Who would have to move back to Sleepyside, too. It couldn't get any better. She didn't let a sound slip past her smiling lips. Instead, she watched with avid interest and prayed for an affirmative answer from Dan.

"The name's definitely negotiable," Trixie replied with an amused chortle and a slight shake of her head that sent her curls bouncing. "I truly am thinking of starting up an agency here, though. I learned a lot while I was out in California. I'd love to apply it to my own agency. Plus it would solve my own unemployment issue, too." She reached out, put a hand on Dan's arm, and stated sincerely, "And I'd love to have you as a partner. I mean it, Dan. I really do."

"Let's table this discussion for later, Trix." It was surprisingly hard for him to suggest it, especially when the idea was so new. And alluring. And flattering. And maybe just what he needed, now that he could admit to becoming rather burned out with the DEA and the insane hours and the dangerous situations he sometimes found himself in. With great reluctance, he followed his own suggestion, knowing he'd contemplate it more when he was alone, and declared hoarsely, "Right now I want to know about your change of venue. Does anyone else know yet?"

"Nope. Just you and Honey. Nobody else. I'll tell all the assorted others later. In fact, I didn't mean to clue Honey in just yet. I was planning on waiting until tomorrow to share it. After all the excitement of the birth died down but…" She held her hands out, palms up, and released a loud sigh. She'd come to learn firsthand that the best-laid plans didn't always work out so well, especially when they involved her friends and family.

"You can't blame her, Dan. She couldn't resist my awesome interrogation skills!" Honey chimed in, giving herself a congratulatory pat on the back. "No one is immune, you know."

"She is good," Trixie added, her eyes sparkling with a bright light that had been missing for a very long time. "And she is right."

"Mum's the word, then, huh?" Dan tossed his empty container into a small wastebasket.

"Tomorrow will be soon enough." Trixie studied the clock placed high above the nurse's station. Thinking of Di and the amount of hard physical work she'd put in for the last twenty hours made her wince. Labor wasn't something she was looking forward to; not anytime soon. Di was a brave, brave woman. "Do you think our newest one will ever grace us with her presence?"

Curious himself, Dan craned his neck to glance down the hallway. First he heard the rhythmic sound of boots on the floor. Then he saw a shadow followed by a familiar head. A pleased grin took its time to cross his handsome face. Because the girls weren't looking in the correct direction, he took Trixie by the shoulders, turned her around and gave her a small push forward, earning him an indignant glare for his trouble. His triumphant announcement caused Trixie to gasp and Honey to gape. "Look in front of you, Trix. I think you've got your answer."


	52. Chapter 52

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fifty-Two

Trixie covered her mouth to stifle another gasp. Not wanting to waste a single second, she took off like a shot and sprinted down the hall. She was halfway to her brother's side before the others had a chance to move a single limb. Grabbing ahold of his arm, she halted Mart's progress and looked up, a shining question in her eyes. Breathlessly, she asked, "Mart?"

He turned to her with the biggest, broadest, most blissful grin she'd ever witnessed splitting his face. After draping an arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close for an impromptu sibling embrace and started dragging her along with him, the old Yankees hat still perched backwards on his head. Through it all, he'd never taken it off. Di hadn't noticed. She'd had a more important issue to focus on. "Come on, Beatrix. Follow me. Let's go give the family the good news."

So happy for him, so in-tune to his emotional state, she cheerfully overlooked his use of her first name and giggled. "Girl, right?" Trixie inquired, her eyes dancing with pure happiness and her dimples winking.

"Beautiful," was his answer. He picked up his free arm, flexed his fingers. It was amazing…beyond amazing. How could he still feel the presence of the little one cradled within his arms? He'd only held her for a little bit. Three minutes, tops, before she'd been whisked away by the nurse for the obligatory first exam. But his arms still tingled from it. Honestly, it was the very best feeling he'd ever had in his entire life. Holding a brand new life, only minutes old. A brand new life he'd helped to create. A brand new life he was going to nurture and love. Forever. Uncharacteristic tears stung his eyes.

"Do you have a name?" Trixie attempted to dig in her heels; she truly did. But Mart was moving with too much drive, too much energy, too much determination. She couldn't stop him, not with her diminutive frame. Short of elbowing him in the stomach or taking out one of his knees, which she didn't think would be very sisterly or kind of her, especially since he'd just become a new daddy, she didn't stand a chance. She was left with no choice but to follow along in his extremely enthusiastic wake.

"Of course," he replied with a snort, taking a second to chuck her under the chin. "But we're going to tell everyone at once. Together. When we all get back to the room. Di wants to see everyone's reaction. She doesn't want to miss out on a single thing."

"As long as it's not Beatrix," she muttered under her breath, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her own name.

"It's not. It's better," Mart shot back cheerfully, unaware that he'd just insulted her. He opened the waiting room door, pushed her unceremoniously over the threshold, and called out, his booming voice cutting through the loud rounds of rapid fire questions currently being shot his way, "So, who wants to meet the newest Belden? She's hot off the presses."

A chorus of shouts, hysterical laughter, and even a few outright sobs all served as his joyful answer. Grateful for her years of experience as a secret agent, Trixie quickly hopped out of the way before she was squashed by the stampeding mass of happy, crying, celebratory people. She laughed; an honest-to-goodness belly laugh, and pressed herself tightly up against the wall as her mother, or maybe it was Mrs. Lynch, barely missed tromping on her toes, on their way out of the room.

"Didn't want to get trampled either?" a familiar voice asked by her side.

The moment was so happy, the occasion so joyous, she forgot to be shy or quiet or embarrassed or reserved around him. She merely smiled up at him, her soul reaching out to him through her honest eyes. There wasn't any restraint; there wasn't any hesitation. None at all. Somehow, she highly doubted if there ever would be again. They'd come too far. "Not particularly."

"Well, stay here with me. It'll be safer if we follow. Well behind the charging herd," Jim teased, holding the door open for her and ushering her through after the crowd had moved on. A quick look at his watch showed him it was after five o'clock. They'd been there just an hour shy of twenty-four hours. A long time but judging from the energetic way Mart was moving, he understood neither of the new parents were feeling the effects of their extremely long and strenuous day. An unfamiliar feeling of envy assaulted him, just for the tiniest of moments, before he resolutely shook it away. Clearing his throat, shaking away the fantasy of what it would be like if he was the one leading the loud and boisterous crew to meet a brand new little life, he said, his voice raspier than it should have been, "I take it you were the first to know since Mart so kindly tossed you into the room. Did you happen to get any details from him?"

"Not much. Only that the baby is most definitely a girl and that she's beautiful. Oh, and her name is not Beatrix," Trixie replied with a laugh as she fell into step with him. Once again, she noted how their pace matched. Perfectly. Comfortably enough, she added playfully, "Apparently, the name is a closely guarded secret, only to be spilled under the cover of darkness."

"I have a feeling both of the new grandmothers will be able to break them." The sight of Helen Belden and Mrs. Lynch pushing through the wall of people surrounding the door with the combined finesse of a professional football offensive line made him snicker. Emerald eyes gleamed with amusement. "Mart and Di won't stand a chance."

Trixie saw the same thing. "I never knew my mom could move like that," she shared, her voice filled with reverent awe.

Jim did a quick head count of the people filing through the opened doorway. "It looks to me like we're about to break hospital rules. How many visitors are allowed in a hospital room, anyway?"

"I guess that's one of the perks of having your older brother on the staff," Trixie accurately guessed with another laugh. She didn't attempt to count the number of people currently streaming into Di's room. No one appeared to stop the nearly unending flow, either. The hospital staff must have realized they would never be able to hold back the entire family or force them to visit in small groups of twos or threes. Nope, it had to be all, and all at once, too. Just perfect.

Jim loved the sound of her laughter. It was so light and easy; didn't have an ounce of force or strain to it. It floated around him, enveloped him with its sweetness, seeped into his heart. God, she sounded just like she used to. No guardedness; no hesitation. Just friendly and warm. And his. Definitely his. He sucked in a deep breath before throwing her his lopsided grin, unaware that more than a few sharp-eyed people were avidly watching their progress. Or that his hand was residing comfortably on the small of her back. And he certainly didn't realize that he was drawing a series of small circles on the soft cotton of her shirt with his thumb.

They were the last ones in. The crowd of bodies around the bed was rather dense. Since she'd been blessed with a petite stature, Trixie couldn't see anything over the heads in front of her, not even when she stood on her tiptoes. Wanting to get a better look at her new niece, and wanting it quite badly, she maneuvered around the edges of the large crowd until she could find a gap. She ended up on the far side, right next to the empty hospital style bassinet, with Jim following close behind her, his hand residing lightly on her hip. She touched the little white receiving blanket with the pink and green stripes on it and slowly turned her head towards the bed. The sight was immediately filed away as an extremely cherished memory. There was her brother Mart, still wearing the hat he'd plucked off her head, as well as the goofiest grin she had ever seen, standing next to a peaceful Di, who looked just as gorgeous as ever as she lay in her bed. She didn't have a hair out of place. Somehow, she'd even found the time to apply fresh make-up. No one would ever have guessed that merely half an hour earlier she'd have given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, who was currently cradled within her loving arms. Emotion grabbed ahold of her. Half-turning, she looked up at Jim, who smiled reassuringly down at her. Instinctively, her hand sought his and was immediately captured. She needed to share the moment with him.

"All right, Mart. You've kept all of us in suspense long enough." Dan's voice broke through the chorus of oohs and ahhs as everyone clamored around to get the best look at the little one. The baby ignored it all. Her eyes were tightly closed. Only one tiny hand was exposed. Her little fist was tucked under her chin. "Come on, man. Tell us. What's her name?"

The one they'd decided on months earlier had flown out the window the second he'd looked down into his daughter's face. It hadn't fit. It hadn't belonged to her, not to this sweet little angel. Di, sweet, giving Di, had acquiesced when he'd asked her to change their first choice. Because his throat was suddenly all clogged up with thick emotion, it took a minute before Mart was able to share, his voice low and proud and filled with boundless love, "She already has her mother's eyes."

The others glanced around at each other, perplexed. "Ah, Mart? Di? That's not exactly a name," Bobby explained helpfully, his own arm wrapped loosely around Whitney's waist. "At least, not in our culture."

It took an effort but Mart managed to lift his head from the wondrous sight of his wife and his daughter. _His daughter!_ What a lovely miracle. His heart was so damn happy he felt like it was going to burst. Or maybe that was just the new parent euphoria his father had warned him about. The next word explained it all. "Violet. We've named her Violet. Violet Anne Belden."

"Baby Vi," Honey breathed out happily. She had to tamp down on the urge to grab the cherished bundle out of Di's arms and pressed her hands together. Although it was going to be difficult, she understood the pecking order. Grandparents would have to come first. Leaning back against the solid wall of Brian's chest, already making maternal plans of her own, she released a small, wistful sigh and murmured softly, "How perfectly perfect."

"Who wants to hold Violet first?" Di help the baby up and, since Helen was standing right at her elbow, offered her over. She settled back against the thick pillows, her joy easily combating the pain her body had recently endured. As her mother had said, it really was all worth it. She smiled as Helen introduced herself as 'Grandmoms' to the baby and then unselfishly offered the little darling over to Mrs. Lynch after cuddling her for a long, extended moment. Cameras and cell phones were pulled out and people started photographing the wondrous event of their newest family member.

The congratulations continued and the baby was handed around to each and every person in the room. In no time at all, Violet was introduced to her large and extensive family. Trixie's arms actually felt empty after she transferred the baby to Bobby, who was surprisingly capable at holding a newborn. She tried hard not to stare when Bobby handed Violet over to Jim but she was afraid she wasn't too successful. And afraid every single feeling she had was currently traipsing across her face for every single person in the room to see. She ducked her head and bit her lip in an attempt to prevent the bright advent of a sudden fantasy, one where Jim was holding their child. She wasn't very good at it.

She stepped back from the others, just a little to help her regain some personal perspective, and glanced around the room, looking for something to distract her from the sweet sight of the little baby girl residing safely within Jim's arms. She found it. A fleeting expression on her mother's face, one that bothered her. Frowning, she shifted, moved to the far back of the happy crowd, and murmured quietly, not wanting to draw any attention to Helen, "Is everything okay, Moms? You look worried."

"Oh, everything is wonderful, Trixie. Just wonderful! But I just realized what time it is. It's almost six. Six! I'm starting to get concerned about Goldie." Nervously, Helen stared at the clock. By her calculations, the puppy hadn't been outside in…oh, who the hell was she kidding? She couldn't accurately recall when the puppy last had a potty break. Hadn't Trixie said something about stopping in at the house earlier? She certainly hoped so. Knowing the sassiness of that ornery little pup, there was no telling what kind of mischief she could get into after being left unattended for so long. The possibilities that came to mind made her grimace.

"Leave it to me. Grandmoms," she tacked on with a cheerful smile.

"Grandmoms," Helen breathed out in response. How she loved the ring of her new title. Next to Moms, it was the most beautiful word she had ever heard. She clasped her hands together and let out a heartfelt sigh.

Since her mother was obviously full of new baby high, Trixie took pity on her. With a hand already on the doorknob, she whispered, "Don't worry. I'll take care of little Goldie. Let everyone know I'll be back to visit in a little while. With all the excitement, I doubt if I'll even be missed."

"You don't mind leaving?" The words were spoken by motherly rote. Helen was already floating back towards the baby.

She shook her head, trying hard not to laugh. Her mother wasn't paying the least bit of attention to her. She said the words anyway, on the off chance that Helen would hear her. "Stay, Moms. Stay. And don't worry. I'll be back soon." Helen waved her daughter away, pleased to have handed off her chore. After one last look at the happy gathering, Trixie fished her car keys out of her pocket and slipped through the door.

From his spot across the room, Jim caught the flash of golden curls disappearing right before the door clicked closed. A slight frown marred his handsome face. If there weren't enough people that could competently field an entire baseball team and then some blocking his way, he would have sprinted after her. But that would have caused a series of questions he didn't exactly want to answer yet. At least, not in public. Hoping he was acting inconspicuous, he started inching his way around instead, intent on following her without hopefully drawing anyone's attention.

No such luck. Satisfied with staying in the background, Dan leaned up against the wall, his hands tucked negligently into the loops of his jeans and his booted feet crossed in front of him. There were times when it felt so damn good to be privy to certain unshared, secretive knowledge. At the moment, he certainly knew a lot more than most of the people standing in the room. Scratch that. He truly did know the most. "Going somewhere, Mr. Frayne?"

Jim started swearing under his breath. He saw the look, recognized it, and understood without a doubt that Dan wasn't going to be letting him leave the room anytime soon. At least, not without causing a scene, the one which he'd been hoping to avoid. He imagined Trixie getting into her car, most likely a rental, and nearly banged his head on the wall in frustration. He wasn't going to catch her before she left the hospital. Not anymore.

"Such language," Dan tsked at him, wagging a disapproving finger through the air and a fake frown of disappointment on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grouched back, looking around wildly for someone to intervene and interrupt. Any of the Lynches, Wheelers or Beldens would have been welcomed with a relieved breath. Even Peter would have been….well, he derailed his train of thought. He wouldn't go _that_ far. It didn't matter. None of them appeared to hear his silent plea for assistance. They were all clustered around a breathtakingly beautiful Diana and her equally gorgeous daughter. If he didn't miss his guess, it was Mrs. Lynch's third time holding her new granddaughter, too.

"You saw her leave," Dan posed it as a statement, not a question, and observed him through narrowed lids.

Jim swung his head around, a flush staining his cheeks. "Maybe," he grunted, barely resisting the urge to kick Dan in the shin. The thought, while tempting, was just a little too childish for him to follow through on. Plus it would call a lot of attention their way. It appeared he was in a no-win situation right now, he realized with an inner sigh. He was stuck.

His lips curled even more. In a tone that should have been helpful but clearly wasn't meant to be, Dan offered the information without a moment's hesitation, "She's going to Crabapple Farm. Her mother was worried about the puppy."

"Puppy?" Jim parroted back before he recalling something Honey had shared with him, about a week earlier. The new pet at Crabapple Farm. He searched his memory banks to come up with the breed. Ah. There it was. A golden retriever. "Oh. Yeah. Puppy," he repeated again, nodding his head sagely.

"I can't help but notice that your vocabulary has taken a serious hit since you stopped working," Dan noted sarcastically, just to needle his friend.

Because his parents had drifted closer to where they were conversing, Jim wisely chose not to swear again. They wouldn't appreciate such language near the baby. He settled for a low grunt instead. It was enough to get his point across.

Dan started laughing, appreciating the tone and understanding what it truly meant. "Anyway, you could probably catch up with her at Crabapple Farm. With everyone at the hospital, she'll be the only Belden there. You may even get to have a few minutes alone before the rest of the clan descends upon you." Of course, if Peter Belden noticed Jim Frayne leaving, he would most likely bolt, too. One eyebrow lifted high while he contemplated the inevitable. He didn't want to imagine a scene at Crabapple Farm with Jim, Trixie and her father in it. Didn't promise to be too pleasant. Or productive. No, he mused to himself, tapping a finger against his thigh. It would be much better if the pair were able to have some private time together. Only he wasn't certain how such a situation could come about.

"My thoughts exactly," Jim nearly snarled out, his emerald eyes glowing brightly. "You're the only one stopping me right now."

"All depends on how you look at it." Dan lifted a shoulder and grabbed Jim by the forearm, preventing him from moving without causing an obvious scuffle that would draw a lot of unwanted attention. A devil of an idea was glimmering brightly before him. He studied it from all sides. Was it the right thing to do? He couldn't be entirely sure and started ticking off the answers to his questions. Would Jim be out for his blood? Most definitely. Trixie? Well, she wasn't present right now so he didn't spend too much effort thinking about her reaction. Peter Belden, however, was the serious wildcard. How would he react? He eyed the older man with a great deal of trepidation combined with an equal amount respect. He was someone who wouldn't have any qualm about killing the messenger, of that he had no doubt. Or the husband.

With the light of retribution spearing out from his slanted eyes, Jim shook off the restraining hand as unobtrusively as possible. Luckily, no one saw the jerky movement. "Enough of this. I'm leaving now, Mangan."

That simply, his decision was made. At the very least, a very big secret would be revealed. If all went as well as he imagined, he'd also be able to buy the two the large block of time that they desperately needed. After his declaration, no one would be interrupting them, wherever they ended up. Not even Peter Belden. He trusted Helen to see to that. "After you meet her at her house, you should probably take her up to Ten Acres," he suggested softly, already seeing the evening unfold in his mind. Yeah. It was most definitely a good one. Jim, Trixie, and the new house at Ten Acres. "You two have a lot to discuss. Your house really would be the best setting. Less chance of anyone walking in on you."

"Like I'm going to take any advice from you," Jim grumbled back. With the devil gleefully tap-dancing away on Dan's shoulder, he would never have admitted what an awesome idea it was. Ten Acres was the perfect place. The only place. Where it all began, so many years earlier. And where it should all start anew.

Dan ignored the acerbic tone and glanced around the room. Now or never. Shaking things up was always a favorite of his. Intentionally waiting until Jim was halfway to the door, he uncrossed his arms, pushed himself away from the wall, and asked loudly, his voice slicing through the joyful sounds of the never-ending celebration, "Hey. Does anybody know where Hollywood went? I can't seem to find her anywhere."

Instantly, the noise level dropped. Jim groaned and leveled an irritated glare over his shoulder. Just like that, his thoughts of a quiet retreat had been blown to bits. Judging from the satisfied smirk on Dan's face, it was exactly what his friend had wanted, making him come to an abrupt halt. Damn. And double damn. Dan's exultation concerned him even more than a hasty ending to his quiet exit from the room. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. Oh, hell. Something was brewing.

Competently folding a set of soft pink and purple receiving blankets for the baby, Helen waved a dismissive hand through the air, not concerned in the least with the whereabouts of her missing daughter. "Trixie's gone back to the house to take care of the puppy for me, Dan. There's no need to worry. She'll be back soon."

A collective sigh of relief rolled through the room. "I was wondering where she'd gotten to," Brian murmured, starting to do a mental roll call. Yep. The only person currently missing was his sister. Although he couldn't help but note that his best friend was wearing one hell of an ugly scowl on his face. He stared at Jim, wondering what on earth had happened to make him look like that. Then he saw the recipient of the glower. He cocked an eyebrow, suddenly aware of a different atmosphere in the room. For reasons unknown to him, he ended up sidling closer to his father. The slight move earned him a matching nod of approval from Dan, proving that his instinct was the correct one.

"Goldie's quite a handful," Helen continued to the room at large. She put the blankets on a nearby table and started nosing her way through the shelf under the bassinet. She made small approving noises at the contents within and began transferring items from a gift bag onto the shelf. "Honestly, I don't know what Trixie is going to find when she gets home. She is a little handful of trouble."

"Don't worry about your aunt. She has quite the habit of disappearing," Mart told his infant daughter, smiling down at her as he made little gurgling noises and spoke in an abnormally high-pitched voice. It made his heart swell to see the intense way she stared back at him before she yawned broadly and closed her eyes again. He tapped her gently on her little button of a nose and added, "Yes. Yes. Yes, she really does. I'm relieved to say she's only gone home this time."

Ah. There it was. He had to bless Mart. The man was a saint. He'd given him the exact opening he was searching for. Dan took a moment to grin victoriously at Jim, who must have had a premonition because he went stark white and actually shook his head no. But Dan didn't listen. He sent a long look over the group, made a mental picture in his mind of the before shot, and, since he couldn't wait to discover the after, dropped the bomb with a glorious gleam of devilish delight dancing in his eyes, "I'm sure her husband's relieved, too."

Silence. The kind where the exceedingly continuous whir of the heating system was the one and only sound you could hear. It suddenly sounded more like a freight train than the quiet, almost nonexistent hum it actually was. Helen slowly turned around, the lotion she'd been adding to the shelf of the bassinet slipping from her suddenly nerveless finger to the floor, where it rolled underneath the bed, forgotten. "Husband?" she repeated weakly, her big blue eyes zeroing in on Dan, who apparently carried a font of unknown information about her daughter.

Oh, hell, yeah. It was priceless._ Priceless_. Gaped mouths, shocked silence, eyes as large as saucers. Dan took it all in. He didn't doubt that they'd find a way to pay him back, and big time, but he didn't regret it. He couldn't; not with the unusual amount of stunned shock and astonished awe coming his way. His lips twitched once, twice, before he resolutely smoothed them back into what appeared to be a concerned line. And then he damned Jim. He jerked a thumb in his direction and, without a moment's regret, tossed him to the ravenous lions, "He was just asking about her, too."

Releasing a sound that resided somewhere between a squeak and a shriek, Honey stared, openmouthed, at her big brother. Who was _Trixie's husband._ Since he was looking like he wanted to kill Dan with his bare hands, she didn't doubt it. Her mouth stuttered closed, her mouth fell open, but she couldn't get a single word past her trembling lips. For the life of her, she was simply too dazed to talk. She wasn't the only one afflicted with the same condition.

When pushed against the wall, Helen could move. And move fast. With careful yet forceful arms, she competently extracted the baby out of Mart's hands and immediately began a baby bucket brigade, desperate to get the baby to Peter. Without looking to see who was standing next to her, she pressed Violet gently into Matthew's arms. Then she ordered the group, her tone loud and insistent and demanding not to be ignored, and her concerned eyes only on her husband, who she could tell was about to explode, "Givehimthebaby. Givehimthebaby. Givehimthebaby. OhMyGod. Give. Him. The. Baby. Right. Now!"

No one could ignore the thread of urgency in Helen Belden's voice. Matthew followed the directive perfectly. Little Violet Anne Belden was swiftly passed to Mr. Lynch, who in turn gave her away to Bobby and then Whitney. After Honey and Brian had a quick chance at passing along the baby, she was offered over to Madeleine who very carefully and very tenderly held her out to a thunderous looking Peter.

As much as he'd like to, he couldn't overlook the small swaddled offering. He accepted his granddaughter without protest, ironically enough from the mother of the man he was mentally plotting to maim. In many varied and creative ways, too. Understanding that he'd just been neatly outmaneuvered by his own wife, the unpleasant expression on his face slowly filtered away. After all, how could he look like he wanted to strangle someone when a new life was staring up at him, out of charming violet-colored eyes? He couldn't; exactly like Helen had planned. He couldn't even grumble and groan or grouch and complain. Or turn the air dark blue with an inventive string of curse words. No, he didn't want to scare his only granddaughter. Backing up until his knees hit the back of the wooden rocking chair, he gently sank down. His toes pushed back and forth on the ground, his pace intentionally slow and calm, while his arms carefully cradled the precious baby. He looked up, more to offer an impotent glare at his new son-in-law than to offer words of welcome to the family, but the man was already gone. All he could see was the door closing behind him.

"Married?" Honey finally managed to squeak out. Hazel eyes large with shock attempted to search out Jim but she couldn't find him. The realization that he must have gone after Trixie dawned brightly. Since her brother wasn't present anymore and couldn't answer her long list of questions, she turned to the next best person. Dan. "I thought they just…well…um…" Her cheeks blushed bright red while she became the recipient of more than a few astonished stares. Either because of what was alluding to or because she'd already known that they were together. "Oh, dear, Dan. You know what I mean. That's all I thought they did when they were together in Las Vegas! I didn't know they got _married_."

Intrigued, Di lifted her head from the pillow. Never a dull moment in Sleepyside. Her own smile stretched from ear to ear. She couldn't tell if everyone present was happy for the newly married couple or not but she most certainly was. They more than deserved it. After all the pain they'd suffered through, after all the loneliness, she firmly believed they deserved all the happiness they could grab. Together. "Wow," she exclaimed softly, smoothing a hand over her soft hair. "My pregnancy must have really messed with my intuition. I didn't have a clue any of this was going on."

"You didn't, either," Dan informed Mart cheerfully. He chuckled at the way everyone swung their heads back to him. It was a good thing they were at the hospital. Some of them were going to have a severe case of whiplash before it was all said and done. Before Mart could sputter and take offense, he quickly explained, "Do you remember talking to Trixie about the baby shower? You know, sometime back in June?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mart eyed his friend cautiously, unable to make any kind of a connection between his phone call to Trixie and her marriage to Jim.

"You meant to call Jim. In fact, you did call him. But she answered his cell by mistake." Pleased to finally have a generous portion of the truth out in the open, Dan watched the emotions flicker across Mart's face. He could tell the exact moment when Mart fully understood.

"I knew something was…odd about the phone call," he grumbled, frowning down at the floor, perturbed that he hadn't picked up on the interception. He toed at the wooden legs of a table. "I just didn't give it too much thought, I guess."

"You had other things to concentrate on. Like getting ready for your baby girl," Honey said soothingly. Then she turned to the others and announced proudly, bringing everyone's attention back her way, "I figured it out pretty quickly, though. You see, the same thing happened to me. Must have been a few days after you called, Mart. I wanted to talk to Trixie but Jim answered her cell. That's when I knew something was up. Although…" Letting the phrase hang, she slanted a curious gaze at Dan.

"I'd like to know how you knew they got married." Matthew Wheeler finished the statement for his daughter. After all, his son was now married. Married! And he hadn't known a blessed thing about it. Sensing her husband's changing mood, Madeleine moved over to him and slipped her hand into his. The contact helped soothe him immensely. He didn't settle for holding her hand, though. He pulled her into his arms and ordered in his best boardroom voice, "Tell us what you know, Dan. Now."

Better him than Jim. Or Trixie. Dan didn't mind taking the heat for the couple. Not when it was going to buy them a whole boatload of time together. No one was going to bother them tonight, of that he was sure. They were going to leave them alone. "I crashed Jim's vacation," he shared, recalling his spur of the moment decision to visit Vegas with an amused smirk. "What I didn't know was that Trixie had already crashed it first. I wasn't around when they got married, though. Jim merely told me about it in a text." That part was almost the truth. Almost. In the infamous text, Jim hadn't told him about their 'marriage.' No, he'd ordered him to stay the hell out of the suite if he valued his life, and in not quite such a family-friendly way. And Dan didn't see any point in sharing the information that Max had taken the marriage between Beatrix Johnson and James Hart and turned it into a real one. The way he figured it, the extra knowledge would only confuse the issue.

"Well." Taking it all in, deciding that he liked the new development immensely, Brian heaved out a long, steadying breath. He kept a sharp eye on his father and nodded approvingly. His mother's machinations were working like a charm. The calming feel of the bundle in his arms was definitely counteracting their father's fiery need for blood and vengeance. Apparently there was nothing quite like holding a newborn baby to soothe the savage beast. "So. Married?"

Hearing his brother, the doctor, sound so astounded was the last straw. Mart tossed back his head and released a string of low chuckles, entertained beyond belief. "Well, would you look at that. It sounds like they've finally got their act together."

"It's only taken them seven years," Madeleine noted with a slight shake of her head. She couldn't help but smile. Happily. It seemed like her decision to push Jim into a Las Vegas vacation had turned out much better than she'd ever hoped it would. She leaned back into her husband's arms and whispered to him, "Matthew, now everything is making a lot more sense to me."

Jim's lack of focus at work. His resignation from the company. The house at Ten Acres. His move back to Sleepyside. Yeah. It all made perfect sense to him now. It turned out the missing piece all along had been Trixie, just as they'd suspected. Matthew tightened his arms around his wife and held on. The love of the right woman was an amazing treasure to find. He'd learned how to cherish it. And it looked like his son had finally learned, too. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he murmured, "You're right, Maddie. You're absolutely right."

"Aren't I always?" she countered, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arched high.

Honey hooked a thumb towards the door. While she wanted to stay and admire the new baby, she was also anxious to find the new couple. There was so much she wanted to know, so much she felt entitled to discover. Seriously, how did it all evolve? Why did they keep it a secret? What was the ceremony like? Did Trixie wear a dress? Or have a maid of honor? What song did they dance to? The questions were endless; the need to find out all was demanding. She took a step forward, then another, intent on following them to Crabapple Farm or Ten Acres or wherever they ended up. Belatedly, she remembered to include the others. "Do you think we should…ah…go and congratulate the newlyweds?"

A sarcastic reply sat on the tip of Dan's tongue. Oh dear Lord. Did it ever. How he wanted to say that they needed to wait and let Jim have the chance to inform Trixie of their married status first. After all, she was now the only one out of the entire bunch who didn't know about the marriage. He actually had to bite down on his tongue. That revelation would open up a whole different sort of a can of worms. Ones he didn't want released, especially not with how peaceful and calm Peter Belden was now looking. "I'd suggest waiting," he said instead, pleased that he was able to keep the newest strain of humor out of his voice.

"I suppose I can wait until tomorrow," Helen replied, giving her head a decided shake. She didn't want to but…there was a new baby to fuss over. And she really wanted to fuss over the little one. She could give her daughter and her son-in-law a night's worth of privacy, she supposed. They obviously needed the time together. "But that's it. After all, Trixie comes by her impatience honestly. I won't be able to wait any longer. I want to see them."

Peter didn't offer another word on the matter. Listening to the discussion of the group with only half an ear, he recalled the differing facts as he understood them, starting from the very moment he'd offered over the diamond solitaire engagement ring to Jim years ago on a warm summer's evening to the sight of them holding hands together in the waiting room, only a few hours earlier. From all those memories, one very clearly stood out in his mind. Jim's emphatic answer to a months' old question, that unforgettable afternoon of the baby shower. Damn it all, the man really did love his daughter. Peter couldn't deny it any longer. And if Trixie married him…that meant she really and truly loved him, too. Not wanting to scare the peacefully slumbering baby in his arms, he stifled a small grunt and mentally prepared himself to throw in the figurative towel. He had to. He figured Helen was right. As much as he'd like to storm Ten Acres and take it over, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Trixie would kill him if he did. It looked like he was going to have to wait until tomorrow, too.

Something was puzzling Brian. Ever the older brother, concerned about the emotional welfare of his sister, he leveled a deep, contemplative stare at Dan. With a deep frown wrinkling his forehead, he began slowly, his words picking up speed and volume as he continued, "You know, Dan, I'm surprised you broke their news, and in such a big way. Especially since neither Jim nor Trixie told anyone else about their marriage. Obviously, they weren't ready to clue the rest of us in yet. Maybe they wanted to keep it a secret a while longer. What made you decide to do it?"

Once again, the room went quiet. All heads swung back in Dan's direction. Breaths were held; eyes were glued. And Peter wasn't looking quite as relaxed as he'd been, only a few short seconds ago. Dan didn't mind the attention; not in the least. In fact, he'd been anticipating the question. It didn't surprise him at all that it came from Brian, the most level-headed and responsible one from their group. Dan held his arms out, tucked them behind his head. And then a cocky grin tilted his lips up at the corners. He paused for a dramatic second and then inquired rhetorically, his deep voice ringing throughout the suddenly silent room, "Have any of you seen Jim's house?"


	53. Chapter 53

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fifty-Three

The door shut with a click, closing out the expressions of outright shock on the faces of the people within. The last sound Jim heard was Helen Belden's voice. While he wasn't able to make out any of her words, he couldn't mistake the intensity behind them. Forceful. He couldn't help but grin. His amusement faded fast. There was someone he needed to get to, and fast. Hurrying through the busy corridor, he neatly sidestepped past a small gathering of hospital personnel surrounding the nurses' station. The annoyed glances they shot his way didn't faze him in the least. He jabbed at the elevator button and shot a furtive look behind him, hoping that no one had decided to follow. He couldn't deal with them or their legions of questions. Not right now. Now, all he wanted to do was get to Trixie. "Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, urging the elevator doors to open. He drummed a handful of impatient fingers against his thigh, wanting to be gone already.

After what seemed like forever but was really only a normal minute and a half, the elevator finally deigned to stop and allowed him passage. He must have looked fiercer than he realized. The young couple who came up behind him made a hasty decision not to board the elevator with him and stayed behind to wait for the next one. Their rejection didn't bother him. Hell, he hardly recognized it. The doors slid closed, letting him partake in the ride blissfully alone. Thankfully, the trip down to the lobby was short, sweet and without a single stop on any other floor. Hardly waiting for the doors to part, he bounded through them when they were still in the process of opening, his pace increasing with each step. By the time he made it past the sliding glass doors, he was at an all-out sprint, dodging casually strolling visitors left and right, and arrived at his vehicle in record time.

Breathing heavily from his mad dash, he patted down his pockets, searching for his car keys. There was one insane moment where he was afraid that he'd left them upstairs in Di's room. Luckily he found them deep within the pocket of his jacket. With a triumphant gleam to his eyes, he hit the unlock button and opened the door. The healthy sound of the motor turning over was the most lyrical sound he'd ever heard. Music to his ears. As he threw the car in reverse and backed up, he remembered to put his seatbelt on, and had just finished buckling before making it to the stop sign.

Luck, that oftentimes fickle thing, was finally with him. Even for Sleepyside standards, traffic in town was exceedingly light. The stop light that almost always turned red was even on his side. He sailed through it when it was showing a pretty yellow. His trek home was so easy he was through the center of town and hitting the outskirts of town before the current song on the radio had a chance to change. Then he was turning onto Glen Road. He traveled along the picturesque country road, not taking in the familiar scenery or the vibrant colors of the autumn sights. One thought, and one thought only, was in his mind. Trixie.

So eager for her, he nearly turned into the driveway for Crabapple Farm. But Dan's earlier words chose that moment to reassert themselves. Ten Acres. Although it practically killed him to agree with his friend, he couldn't deny it. Dan was right, damn his cantankerous soul. It had to be at Ten Acres. Grumbling a string of unintelligible mutters under his breath, he drove past her driveway with a slight scowl on his face and made the next turn, right onto his own property, only a short distance down the road.

With impatience guiding him, he sped up the driveway and parked the SUV at a strange, haphazard angle. Later he would wonder what exactly he was thinking. Totally living for the moment, Jim didn't even notice the oddness of it. He killed the engine with a quick flick of his wrist. Hardly sparing a glance at his house, he shot out of the vehicle with the undeniable force of a bullet from a gun, slammed the door shut and raced across the big front yard to the path that would lead him to Crabapple Farm. Unbelievably, the path to her house was still there; overgrown, almost forgotten, but it was there. It hadn't been used in years…seven years, to be exact. Yet, somehow, it was still there. If he'd had more of a poetic bent to his nature, he would have paused to acknowledge the beautiful simplicity of it all. But he wasn't. And it didn't matter, not to him. All he wanted was her, not some deeper theological thoughts. She mattered more.

His booted feet clomped over the twigs and leaves on his speedy tromp through the woods. He nearly tripped over an exposed tree root when he rushed down a short hill. A quick grab at a low hanging branch saved him from toppling the rest of the way, slowing him down. Taking in a deep breath, he reluctantly changed his pace. Walking was a much more feasible mode of travel through the forest. He gently parted a branch full of jagged prickers; shook the same branch off his leg after it grabbed onto his jeans, and looked straight ahead. He was closing in on his destination. There was a stream of the unbelievably golden sun typical of October evenings, laying a path for him that stopped at the brink of her backyard, guiding him on. He followed it, his mind whirling and swirling with what he wanted to say to her.

Then, he was there. Standing on the edge of the yard. Dark shadows cast by the trees and the house stretched along the ground like long fingers, beckoning him forward. Squinting to ward off the brightness of the low-riding sun, he glanced around but couldn't see her or the puppy anywhere within the vicinity. She was inside. Had to be. He turned his intent gaze on the house. The last time he'd been inside was as vivid as if it had just happened yesterday instead of seven long years in the past. That unforgettable day he'd found out she'd moved away. The memory used to poke and prod at him. Not anymore. Its potency had been lost. Its power severely diminished into nothingness. It didn't hurt any longer. And it would never hurt again. The edge of one lip curled up in satisfaction. Pleased to know he had truly put their past behind him, he started forward with a stride full of determination and fortitude.

He slowed down considerably when he neared the back door, the one that would lead to the kitchen. It almost felt like his ghost from the past was walking besides him, urging him on and ordering him not to screw it up this time. He flicked a two-fingered salute at the imaginary figure and took the short flight of porch stairs with carefully measured steps.

This time when he looked through the screen of the door, his emerald green eyes landed on the Belden he wanted to find, in direct contrast to that long-ago day when he'd discovered every other Belden was in residence except for her. This evening, _she_ was there, standing at the other end of the kitchen. Her back was to him. She was bent over a gate, most likely taking care of the little puppy he could hear happily yipping away. He took a moment to admire the view of the material of her pants as it stretched alluringly across her backside. After all, he was only human. Then he took in a set of deep, fortifying breaths. The time he'd been wishing to come for months now was finally upon them. Willing his hand not to shake, he lifted it and knocked lightly on the doorframe, startling her.

With a bit of yellow fluff squirming in her arms, Trixie turned around, curious about her visitor. Her sharp gasp of astonishment was covered up by a shrill puppy yelp. "Jim!" she exclaimed, surprised by his presence. She didn't speak. She couldn't. All rational thought left the second she saw him through the tiny crisscross patches of the screen, standing on the opposite side of her door.

"Can I come in?" As always, he watched her intently, more intently than she realized. He wasn't about to enter the house on his own, no matter how much he wanted to. It was imperative that she invite him in.

"Oh! Right. Of course you can. Sorry. Come on in. I'm…ah…taking care of Goldie right now." Needing to be busy, and needing it quite badly, Trixie turned and gently put the puppy down on the other side of the gate, much to Goldie's immediate vocal distress. Ignoring the downright pitiful yelps, she grabbed the puppy chow, poured way too much of it into the dish, and watched Goldie happily pounce on the extra bit of kibble that spilled out onto the floor. Then she headed over to the sink to fill up the water bowl. Because the silence continued to grow, she called out over her shoulder, fervently praying for the ability to overcome her shock at his unexpected presence, "Moms was worried about her. I volunteered to come home and let her out."

"So I heard." After opening the door, Jim stepped foot inside the house. The very first time he'd done so since she'd moved away. Conscious of the fact, he watched his foot as it hit the well-used yet sparkling clean floor. To him, it felt like coming home. Hell, he'd missed this place and all the wonderful times they'd shared in it. He flicked a glance over to the sink, where she was busy filling up the water bowl. The emerald darkened. Oh, wickedly so. On a summer evening, just days before everything went so terribly wrong between them, he'd come through that exact screen door. She'd been by the sink, her back to him and in the same spot, singing along to the radio. Off-key and without an ounce of musicality to her voice. Her obvious tone-deafness hadn't bothered him. Instead, he'd been charmed. Certain of her response, he'd prowled up behind her, snuck his arms around her and pulled her into a warm, tight embrace. The memory was so brilliant, strong and bright; a perfect match for the sunlight streaming through the window. Because he wanted to follow through and relieve it, he tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and stayed just inside the kitchen. Far enough away for him to be safe not to follow through and live out his fantasy but close enough to be able to observe. His eyes, though…they carried the truth. A powerful hunger that couldn't be denied or ignored. Not any longer.

Unaware of his thoughts, oblivious to the intense look he was giving her, and totally ignorant of the significance of the moment, Trixie carefully carried the water bowl back to the laundry room with both hands. "There you go," she murmured to the little puppy, which was standing on her hind legs and yapping for attention. She carefully placed the bowl down over the gate, managed to do so with only spilling a few drops, and gave the puppy a comforting pet and a smile. Standing back up, she wiped her hands on her pants and half-turned. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd still be at the hospital with the rest of the clan. Have people already left?"

"As far as I know, everyone's still there." He shrugged and chose not to share that everyone else was currently questioning Dan on their now not-so-secret rendezvous in Las Vegas, as well as its astonishing outcome. There'd be time for that later. He fleetingly wondered how she would take it all. "Violet has a lot of company."

"Violet," Trixie spoke the pretty name softly and sighed with a great deal of happiness. She closed her eyes, remembering the sight of her brother holding his newborn daughter. "Gleeps! It's hard to think of Mart as a father. And to such a sweet baby girl."

Her long golden curls bounced as she swung her head from side to side in awestruck, sisterly amazement. Mesmerized, his fingers itched to touch them. He balled his hands into fists to prevent himself from reaching out for her. And watched her, exactly like he used to when they were much, much younger. Before they'd become an official couple. When he'd been more concerned about keeping his feelings a secret and not clueing anyone else in. He hadn't been very successful at it then. He highly doubted if he was more successful now. Dear Lord, he didn't think he could ever get tired of looking at her. When she inclined her head to the side, obviously waiting for a response, he did a rapid search of his memory banks to recall what she'd just said. He was impressed when the subject came back to him. "Don't worry. Mart's ready for it. And if he's not, Di will whip him into shape."

Because she didn't know what to do or where to stand, she remained by the low gate barring off the laundry room. The puppy was doing her best to turn herself into a pogo stick. She kept hopping up and down in a series of vain attempts to jump over the gate. Reaching down, Trixie stroked the little one on the head and received a few sharp little puppy nips for her effort. "I still find it hard to believe, though. Time's gone by fast. The last time I saw him he was announcing the pregnancy to our parents. Right here, in fact."

"After the wedding, right?" Jim remembered, nodding his head.

"Yeah." Trixie pushed back her hair and glanced around the room. With the baby on their collective brain, she offered, just a little hesitantly, a little unsure of herself, "I guess I've seen to everything. She's been fed, watered and taken outside. Do you want to head back to the hospital together? I can drive, if you like. I have a rental."

"No," was his immediate answer. Short, sweet and to the point, allowing no chance for a debate.

"No?" she repeated in a higher-pitched voice. Totally expecting an affirmative, she was taken aback by his answer. Until she got a good look at his face. Then her nerves started humming in an extremely familiar and delicious way. And she had to force herself to stay completely still.

A hint of humor tinged his tone, humor she didn't fully understand but she couldn't mistake, as Jim shared, "I don't think they're expecting us back at the hospital anytime soon."

It was October. October! And yet she was beginning to feel as warm as if it was the hottest day of the summer. Trixie cursed the blush currently smearing her face and threw all her concentration into speaking some kind of a coherent response. It was surprisingly hard, especially with the glints of desire jammering away at her. She needed him. Oh, how she needed him. All she was able to muster was a hoarse and throaty, "All right."

He reached behind, opened the door, and invited her casually, "How do you feel about taking a walk?"

"A walk?" she parroted back, feeling absolutely, positively stupid.

"Yeah. A walk. There's something I'd like to show you." Damn it all, he hated it when Dan was right. But there was a symmetry to it; a beautiful, gorgeous, undeniable symmetry. They had begun at Ten Acres, all those summers ago. A brash runaway; a much-too-curious-for-her-own-good teenager. The years since hadn't always been kind to them; hadn't always been happy or supportive or what they'd truly wished them to be. But, amazingly enough, a new chance was being offered, one where they could rectify all the mistakes, fix all the detours, and begin again at the right place. Ten Acres. Had to be. Hands down, the best place for them.

She walked slowly over to the door, never once taking her wide blue eyes off his. "Where…" Since her voice was full of unshared and voluntarily unnamed emotion, she coughed to clear it and tried again, "Where do you want to go?"

"I thought I'd show you my new house." Since it was autumn-cold out and nighttime would be approaching quicker than ever, he pulled a gray zip-up sweatshirt that probably belonged to Bobby off a nearby hook and handed it over to her. "You're gonna want this. The evening's are getting chillier now. You remember what it's like here in late October."

She accepted it by rote and slid her arms into the warm cotton. It swam on her. She didn't notice. Even if she had, she wouldn't have cared. For clarification purposes only since her mind seemed to have turned into a great big bowl of messy mush, she restated carefully, "You want to walk up to Ten Acres? With me? Right now?"

He ushered her out onto the porch and pulled both doors shut, effectively cutting off the sounds of the plaintive puppy yelps from inside. Internally apologizing to one sad and lonely pup, he nodded his head. "Yeah. You can be the second one to visit. So far Dan's the only one who's made it up to see the house."

Okay. She could walk with him. She could visit his house. Really, she could do it. Stuffing her hands into the pockets, she fell into easy step besides him. Their footsteps echoed along the wooden planks of the porch. Absently, she noticed that the gray paint was beginning to peel. And then what he said hit her. Her head shot up. "Seriously? No one else has been by yet? I'd have thought that your place would have been crawling with visitors by now."

He wanted to touch her, to smooth back the tempting halo of hair he always found so enticing. Since the timing wasn't exactly right, he settled for watching the last remaining rays of the day dance across her face instead. Damn, she was breathtaking. Even without an ounce of make-up on, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of viewing. "Bad timing," he informed her with a dry chuckle. At her confused expression, he added, "Apparently, I picked the wrong week to move in. My parents were away on business. Brian's schedule at the hospital was more insane than normal. Honey could have visited but she would rather not without him. And Mart and Di…." He left it up in the air, figuring she would realize exactly what the two had focused all their strength and energy on. "Anyway, it wasn't the best week to host a housewarming party."

Fresh fallen leaves crunched under their feet. The inner debate lasted less than a second within her. It needed to be brought up and she couldn't ignore such a perfect set-up. She slanted a curious glance at him and called up the courage to do it. Deliberately, she stated, "But it matched with your resignation from your father's company, though."

Astonished, he halted in mid-stride. His mouth fell open. How the hell could she already know? It wasn't long before he came to the conclusion he shouldn't have been surprised. Not really. She was always miles ahead of the rest of them. Had been since they'd first met. He couldn't count the number of times she'd had the mystery figured out well before the others had been remotely clued in. "You heard, huh?" At her curt nod of affirmation, he questioned, speaking the only name he thought would have told her, "Dan?"

"No, you can't blame Mangan. Not this time," she replied with a small chuckle. She couldn't fault him for his guess, though. Dan was an exceptionally good choice. He could stir the pot better than any person she knew. "Believe it or not, it was Honey. She told me when we took a break from the confines of the waiting room. It would have been right before Mart burst out of the room to tell us about the baby."

"Honey. Makes sense." His sister, as he very well could attest to, could not only interrogate and cross-examine like no one he had ever seen, but could also offer up the most surprising information at just the right time, too. She had a marvelous knack for it. He thanked her in his mind. Having Trixie already know about his job, or lack there-of, helped smooth the way a little more than he expected. It wouldn't be a stumbling block to what he really wanted to tell her.

"She's always been a good source for fresh information." Trixie smiled, allowing her dimples to wink a little. Being very familiar with the path to Ten Acres, she led the way into the woods. Years ago, she would have avoided the whole situation. Personal matters had never been discussed between them. But not anymore. It didn't occur to her not to ask him how he felt about his resignation. There wasn't a single hesitation in her next inquiry, yet another sign of her growing comfort with him, "How do you feel about it? Not working for your father anymore, I mean. It's got to be a big change for you."

"Actually, it feels good. Great, in fact," he answered evenly, without needing the time to think. Stopping, he put his hand on a branch, absently pulled off a leaf and started tearing it into small pieces. As the bits fell to the forest floor, he stared down at her, awed by his own internal realization, "In fact, I'm a little surprised by how great it feels. I don't miss living in the city. I don't miss the corporate world at all. While I enjoyed my time working for my dad, it didn't fit me anymore."

Those eyes of his, emerald bright and glowing with something she could not quite define, were boring straight into hers. It made her hold her breath, like she was getting ready for the most death-defying free fall of them all. "Oh," she murmured, struggling for a response.

Did she catch the true meaning behind his words? He couldn't tell. He certainly hoped so. She was the reason why his old life didn't fit anymore. She was the reason why he couldn't continue on his old path, why he couldn't be content to stay in the city and continue to work behind a desk. No, he needed more. He needed _her_. Brushing off the brown remnants of the leaf, he inclined his head towards the path. "There's not much daylight left, Trix. Let's go. I want you to get a good look at the house before it gets dark."

Oh, Lord. _ He'd said it didn't fit anymore. Didn't fit. Didn't fit. _She'd just heard him say it. Oh, woe. Her heart was hammering out a strong, emphatic beat. It took a serious effort to force her wooden feet to move. How she wanted to ask him why it didn't fit, to question him on what caused the change in him and his old lifestyle. Why he no longer found it acceptable. Hope, that often fleeting thing, was floating up and within her, tiny little bubbles she didn't want extinguished any time soon. So she continued on, moving along the old, overgrown path, while the phrase echoed and re-echoed throughout her mind. Too caught up in her thoughts, she didn't see the thick tree root sticking out.

He caught her elbow before it tripped her up. "I've got you," he whispered, his other arm snaking around her waist.

Must she always trip over stupid objects like tree roots and stupidly placed rocks, especially when she was with him? It happened way too many times for her self-esteem. Trixie felt the infamous blush attack her yet again while she ticked off a few of the more memorable times. On her prom night; only she hadn't minded so much then. He'd been there to catch her, just like now. And again, that time during her first Christmas home from California. He hadn't made a move to help her. Not then. Not that she could blame him. Even if he had helped her, she wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. At that point, the emotional distance between them had been insurmountable. Then. But now…now…Now was a completely different story. Her voice was a soft velvety rasp. "Thanks."

"Any time." With a reluctance that was nearly painful, he dropped his hands from her but not before giving her a small squeeze. As one, they turned and soldiered on through the underbrush, their steps in perfect tandem. Exactly as he'd expected, once he started touching her, he found it nearly impossible to stop. He held a hand up to study it. Damn, she was enthralling. The warmth of her was still tingling on his fingers, even after such a brief touch.

For the next few minutes, the only sound was the crunching of leaves and twigs under their feet. While he worked to gain some control over his increasingly demanding libido, her mind was busy. Very busy. He hadn't brought anything up yet about California; hadn't questioned her about her mission or her abrupt departure from San Diego. Which was…surprising. She tilted her head to the side, stared out at him through lowered lashes. He was so natural with her, as if her abrupt departure from her beach house hadn't affected him in the least. Mentally preparing herself for opening up Pandora's box, she bravely brought up the subject, without an ounce of questioning from him. After all they'd been through together, he deserved the honesty. Quietly, she whispered, "I'm sorry I had to leave."

"Leave?" She caught him in mid-stride. He was the one to almost stumble this time. There wasn't any object of nature to blame it on, either. Puzzled, he frowned down at her. "Leave what? The hospital?"

"No. My house. In San Diego," she tacked on quietly, coming to a stop so she could closely gauge his reaction.

Hell, he hadn't expected her to bring it up. And so soon. Completing an abrupt about face, he turned around and moved in. "You don't need to be sorry," he declared fiercely, finally giving in to the urge and running a hand over her curls. They were even softer than he remembered. Even more tantalizing. The power they held over him was incredible. "I understand why you had to leave. I'm not mad, Trix. I'm not upset. You couldn't have done anything to prevent it. You had to go."

"I didn't want to leave," she admitted, wanting to give him as much of the truth as she could. After all he'd done for her, he needed all she could give him. Words started coming out, fast and furious. "I didn't. I wanted to stay with you. But I couldn't ignore the code the agency sent me. Once I received it, I had to accept the mission. I couldn't overlook it. I couldn't stay behind. I wanted to but I needed…"

Placing a gentle finger on her lips to stop her flow of words, he hastily interrupted, his tone intentionally soothing, "Trix. Listen. It's okay. You don't owe me any explanation. Not a single one. I went to your agency. I talked to both Heidi and Jocelyn. They filled me in. I know what you were dealing with. I know why you had to leave. It's okay," he repeated when she looked like she still wanted to argue with him. "Really. I'm not asking for an apology. I don't want it. I don't need it."

Okay, gentle understanding wasn't quite the reaction she expected from him. She liked it. Very much so. But it wasn't what she was expecting. Looking off into the distance, she recalled the bits and pieces she'd learned about his reaction to her departure. Courtesy of Heidi and Jocelyn. And even from Honey herself. Each and every vignette pointed to a man who'd been worried, anxious and upset. Not about her leaving; but about her safety, her whereabouts. All about _her_. Heady stuff. She mumbled a question, more to herself than to him, "You understand?"

He aimed a reassuring grin at her. She looked so perplexed, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing; what she was thinking or the conclusion she was drawing. It was so endearing to catch her at such a soft and unguarded moment. "I don't care why you were called in to the agency. I don't care that you had to leave me." He waited until she was staring back at him; her eyes big, blue and astonished. Tracing a finger along the edge of her cheek, he added, "All I care about is having you here with me now."

All right. She could deal with it. The guilt she'd been carrying over her sudden exit from their abbreviated San Diego chapter dissipated into the cooling air. She didn't need it anymore. With the guilt gone, another realization slowly dawned on her. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of confusion and accusation. Her voice was molasses-slow. "You're not asking about the mission."

"Hey. What can I say? I hung around with you CDA agents long enough to recognize 'classified' when I see it." He let out an amused chuckle. While he was curious about her mission…hell, beyond curious, he wasn't going to ask. For one, he didn't think he truly wanted to know about the dangerous situations she most likely encountered over the past few months. For another, it would put her in a place where she might have to compromise her integrity. She valued it too much. And he valued her. It wouldn't be fair of him. He leaned in closer, whispered near her ear, "I get it, Trix. I'm not going to play Twenty Questions with you. I'm not even going to play One Question. You have my word. You're back, safe and sound. You're here. To me, that's all that matters."

He was close, so close she caught a hint of the cologne he was wearing. Teasing and tormenting, she allowed herself a moment to breathe it in, and to let his reply settle. When it did, a full smile bloomed vibrantly across her lips. He wasn't going to demand answers or fire questions her way. There was a sense of wonderment to her voice. "You're not kidding. You aren't. You understand. You really do understand."

He twined a finger around a curl and watched it carefully as it unwound and sprang back to life. Totally tongue in cheek, he stated, "As much as a lowly civilian who ever crossed over the line into secret agenthood can."

Her eyes lit up with delighted laughter seconds before the glade they were in rang with the merry sound of it. "Jim!" she exclaimed, absolutely thrilled with his answer. Without thinking, without planning, she tossed her arms around him and gave him an impulsive hug. Exactly like she used to.

She was in his arms. _In his arms!_ The place he'd wanted her in for so very long. Had dreamed about it for months. The feel of her warm body pressed up against his was a shock to his system. He was much slower to react. But when he did, there were no regrets. No hesitation. Just him and her. His arms wound their way around her, pressed her firmly against his chest. Not an ounce of space existed. He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair, laid his head on top of hers, and closed his eyes, simply to savor the overwhelming sweetness of the moment. Having absolutely no desire to let her go, ever, he held on as if his very life demanded it. Which, he wasn't embarrassed to admit to himself, it most definitely did. It was clear that he didn't do very well without her.

With her head cradled tenderly against his chest, Trixie's eyes were wide open and the biggest they could get. Finding it hard to believe her impulsive move, she stared unseeingly out into the woods, straight ahead, her mouth open and yet another bright red flush working its way across her face. _Gleeps _was all she could think. Here she was, in his arms, in his embrace, and it was all her doing. All her doing. Oh, and it felt like absolute, pure heaven. Custom made just for her. Holding on tight, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. For once, she let herself enjoy the lightness of the moment.

Although he wanted to, and quite desperately at that, he didn't make a move to kiss her. Not yet. Ten Acres kept running through his mind, like an insistent mantra that simply wouldn't cease and desist. It had to be there. To make it complete, it had to be there. He gave her one last squeeze before reluctantly stepping back. Because he couldn't help it, because all the remaining walls were in the final stages of crumbling down around them, he let himself touch her one last time. He cupped her face in his hands, noted the pretty pink blush that followed, and shared hoarsely, "I'm glad you're home."

"Oh," she breathed out again. The touch, light and lovely, was more shattering to her equilibrium than the most passionate of kisses. She was surprised it didn't turn her into a puddle of inarticulate goo at his feet. "So am I."

As much as he wanted to get her to his house, his feet wouldn't cooperate. They grew roots. Maybe it was because she was still standing next to him. Maybe it was because he could still smell her shampoo. Or maybe it was because he felt like he was drowning in a sea of deep, delicious blue. Whatever the reason, he was loathe to end their encounter, even with the house of Ten Acres practically looming over them.

She didn't know how long they stayed there; two beings silhouetted against the vividly bright fall leaves. Soon the colors would start to fade, in preparation of the changing of the seasons. Right now, they were October bright and full of autumn pride. Attempting coy, and succeeding at it, she questioned teasingly, "Weren't you supposed to be taking me somewhere?"

His deep rich chuckles filled the air. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her forward, not wanting to waste any more time. "It's not that much farther. All we've got to do is go up that little ridge and then we're at the edge of the property."

"I think I remember how to get there," she remarked dryly, unconsciously lacing her fingers through his. It was such a natural motion to her it didn't register. Peering up at him, she added with a trace of sarcasm, "I've been to Ten Acres a time or two in the past, you know."

"Thank God for me," he said with a meaningful answering glance that stopped her heart cold.

Trixie couldn't imagine a better turn of phrase for Jim to share with her. Well, there was maybe one more. Three teeny, tiny, little words. Words she hadn't heard from him in a very long time. Rendered temporarily speechless, she trailed along until only a thin line of trees mixed with some straggling untamed underbrush stood between them and his property.

"After you." Stepping off to the side, he motioned for her to go first. He needed to see her reaction, like the way he needed the air from the sky and the blood circulating through his veins. He dropped her hand and immediately felt bereft.

There wasn't a smile on her face. Not any longer. Preparing herself, Trixie pushed back the last branch and stepped onto the edge of the yard. The house was there, standing proudly right at the peripheral of her vision. She didn't look in its direction. She couldn't. If she was being totally honest with herself, she didn't want to see it. Instead, she turned and found comfort in looking back at him and the woods. "It's been a long time since I've been here."

"Probably about as long as it's been since I've been to Crabapple Farm," Jim pointed out, watching her through eyes that were suddenly hooded. Silently, he urged her to turn around and look at the house. How would she react? What would she say? He needed to find out. Now. Right now.

"Seven years?" Trixie asked quietly.

"Seven years," he replied easily. Seven years. Seven years of separate, yet surprisingly parallel, lives. Where work came first. Where they chose to partake in a stilted and uncomfortable relationship. And where they willingly stayed apart; on the opposite ends of the country. Not any longer. Not ever again. He was going to make damn certain of it. Since she didn't appear to want to turn those dazzling eyes of hers onto his house, he spoke lowly, encouragingly, and gave her a gentle nudge, "Get going, Trix. You're almost there. Turn around. Tell me what you think."


	54. Chapter 54

**The Broken Road**

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Chapter Fifty-Four

An image of that damn log cabin from the floor plans floated painfully before her eyes. Holy hell, she didn't want to see it. She didn't want to look at it. She certainly didn't want to vocalize her opinions about it. She wouldn't be able to dredge up anything solid or remotely positive to say. But, because he was looking at her so expectantly, so patiently, so….oh my, she couldn't quite put her finger on the exact emotion. All she knew was that her heart started thundering wildly in her chest. Because of him, she nodded slowly and, with her gaze trained solely on the ground, turned the rest of her body around. Once again breathing the air that belonged solely to Ten Acres, she dug down deep and somehow found the courage to glance over at the structure.

And then she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. _Oh. My God._ The blue of her eyes, normally as bright and clear and open as a summer day, darkened to deeper cobalt. Her mouth turned into a small O of pure and complete astonishment. She didn't even realize she covered it with her hand or that she took an involuntary step forward. All she could see, all she could focus on, was the large house reigning with unquestionable magnificence over the grounds of Ten Acres. She blinked once, twice, then three times, just to see if her eyes were deceiving her. They weren't. Gleeps. No, they weren't. It stayed there; the glorious vision. Right in front of her.

The house. It wasn't a log cabin. Wasn't anywhere close to resembling one. Oh, my, no. It was a house. A home. A large, exquisite, comfortable country style farmhouse. A wide porch wrapped around the front of it; most likely outlined its way across the entirety of the house. And it was blue. Blue. A very pretty shade of blue, with charming gray shutters adorning each and every window, as well as a front door in a matching shade. A flight of wide stairs led up to the inviting porch. Gables gently rose from the second floor. Her heart literally stopped and a pool of unshed tears popped into her eyes. It was beautiful; exactly what she'd envisioned, all those years ago. A perfect replica of every dream she never realized she still held and cherished. Longing like she'd never experienced before speared through her, slicing her heart in two. Dear Lord, she wanted this house.

Jim wasn't studying the house. There was no need to. He knew what it looked like. He'd put enough hours into its design; spent enough time watching it take shape under the grumblings of his contractor. No, he was watching her instead, and cataloguing each and every emotion as it floated across her overly-expressive face. Shock and incredulity. Hope and wonder. Best of all; awe. It was there, all right there, flickering with the ethereal beauty of a flame for him to see and note and watch and appreciate. Although it was hard to let her take it all in on her own time and in her own way, he stayed silent, tucked his hands in his pocket, and simply did what he did best when it came to Trixie. He observed.

Slowly, her hand dropped from her mouth. She took a set of small steps forward before abruptly halting her progress. She lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of the house. Surprise was in her voice. Incredulity was stamped vividly across her face. Hope, that one-time fickle emotion, was cradled carefully within her heart, calling out to be released. She didn't care that she stammered. "It's not a log cabin, Jim. Jim. Jim, it's not a log cabin."

"No," he instantly agreed, the emerald the most intense green it had ever been. Because he wanted to reach for her, he once again turned his hands into tight fists in his pockets. Could she see what the house meant? What he wanted? God, he hoped so. "It's not."

"It's supposed to be." She knew she was close to stuttering; she truly did. She simply couldn't stop herself. He'd even shown her the plans, not too long ago. She'd seen with her own eyes what he'd intended to do, what he'd wanted to build on the plot of Ten Acres. What she couldn't figure out was why he had altered his original plan. She started chewing on her bottom lip. "Jim, it's supposed to be a log cabin."

"Maybe it was." He lifted a shoulder, shot her an almost-smile, and noted how she couldn't tear her gaze away from the house. "Once upon a time. But…now…well, it's not."

Understatement of the year. Big, bold and beautiful, it most definitely was not a log cabin. Spellbound, Trixie turned once more to the house. Part of her was longing to race towards it, to touch it and explore it and make herself firmly believe in its splendid and marvelous presence. But she couldn't force her wooden feet to move. She simply couldn't. Too caught up in shock, she was stuck directly on the outskirts, looking in. Unsure of her moves; uncertain of his motives. But totally sure of her own wants and needs.

She wasn't voicing a million and one questions, something he'd kinda expected her to do. She wasn't jumping up or down in excitement, either. She also wasn't singing the house's praises. And she didn't appear to be anywhere close to throwing herself into his arms. A slight frown settled on his face. Jim cleared his throat. Nervously. Since the silence was getting to him, he offered the patented explanation he figured he'd give anyone who asked about the multitude of changes he'd instigated, and at such an inflated price from the original one, "While it's a nice design, the log cabin style didn't fit the surrounding area. Once we got into the building part, I decided to make a change. It was a necessary change. It didn't match."

"I see," she murmured, her heart thundering so loudly she was surprised it didn't frighten away any of the hidden wildlife around them.

Did she really? He couldn't tell, not with her head averted and her mouth so unnaturally quiet. "My contractor hates me," he continued, one edge of his lip curling up in a show of disdain. He chuckled slightly when she whipped her head around, dumbfounded. At least she was looking at him. Shrugging a resigned shoulder, he elaborated with a small sigh, "Absolutely, positively hates me. He was able to make the changes happen. It took a lot of time, a lot of effort, some serious overtime, and a whole lot of headaches to make what I wanted into a reality."

What he wanted. Dear God, he wanted the blue farmhouse of her dreams. Of his dreams. _Of their dreams_. She didn't care how it happened. She really didn't. The cost, the changes, the headaches caused by it all…yeah, none of that mattered to her. All that mattered was…_why_? Why did he change the design? Why did he want it? If the answer was what she thought it was, what she prayed it was, then there was a truly good reason for the rapid beating of her heart, for the prickly tears threatening to spill from the blue pool of her eyes, and for the sudden warmth enveloping her very soul. She quickly glanced away, not quite certain, and replied quietly, measuring her words carefully, "It must have been a tough experience to go through."

He was getting tired of not being able to look at her face. Now, all he could see were her curls, being tousled about with a gentle whip of the wind. He smoothed away his frown and grabbed her hand again. To hell with it. If she wasn't willing to walk to it herself, he was damn well going to take her to their house. Gruffly, he muttered as he tromped over the uneven ground, "Come on, Trix. Let me show you the new and improved Ten Acres."

"It sure beats the old mansion that used to stand here." Trixie forced the words out through a thick lump of unresolved emotion residing almost painfully in her throat. "It's much prettier." And perfect and lovely and, oh, just about everything she ever wanted. From under her lashes, she covertly studied Jim. It yielded nothing. All she found was his profile. It wasn't enough. She couldn't garner any information on what mattered the most to her.

"I moved in a few days ago." Jim held onto her hand tightly as they crossed over the unfinished front lawn. Together they stepped over stones and a few small ridges left over by some of the construction vehicles. Unlike the yard, the front walkway was completed. He led them over the smooth stones and halted at the wide base of the porch steps to warn her, "It's live-inable but it's not fully finished. Or fully furnished. I've been working on the detail work since I moved in. I've made some progress but there's still a lot left to do. Trixie, it's not done yet."

"That's okay. I'm sure the inside is just as beautiful as the outside." Trixie put her hand on the smooth railing painted a soft gray while a yearning for the beautiful house to be theirs assaulted her. Intentionally focusing on the sight in front of her, she did not once look in Jim's direction. She couldn't; if she did, she was certain every thought, feeling and dream she possessed would have been parading vividly across her face, for him to witness. And she wasn't prepared for that. She needed more first. She needed an answer to an important question.

"I'll let you decide." Jim fought the need to clear his throat again. He took a series of deep, steadying breaths instead. Wishing she'd just look at him again, already, damn it all, he inclined his head and invited her in with a curt, "Follow me. I'll take you inside."

Their feet created a slow rhythm as they walked up the flight of six stairs; Trixie more than a little hesitant, Jim more than a little nervous. At the top of the steps, she took in the spaciousness of the front porch, noting that Jim had expanded it to give the space a ton of room. It went well beyond the normal standard. There were even swings in each corner, waiting patiently for someone to sit and set them in a gliding motion. Walking across the brand new floorboards, she placed a hand over the outside wall. Her tan hand stuck out against the sweet shade of blue. Even though she could feel Jim wanting her to say something, she couldn't force any words out. Speech of any kind was simply beyond her. Small talk was impossible and she wasn't emotionally ready yet for anything more meaningful.

"Remember. The inside isn't furnished. Much." A small scowl fell across his face. Apparently she excelled at hiding her reaction from him. He shook his head, frustrated, and opened the front door. Looking back, he waited for her to join him. "Come on in, Trix."

"Okay." Cautiously, she stepped over the threshold with him and into the entry way. Craning her neck, she glanced around and swallowed back a sigh of dreamy delight. Big and roomy, the living room was gorgeous. Gorgeous. Exactly what she wanted in a greeting space. It was large, roomy and sunny, with loads of potential. And without an ounce of pink to it. Currently it didn't have the best of furnishings, exactly as he had said. But it had possibilities. So many of them. Although she tried to block them out, to not even dream them, she couldn't stop herself. She could visualize every part of the completed room perfectly, from the entertainment center to the comfortable chairs and even right down to the set of charming curtains billowing in the breeze. She had to shake her head to clear away the tantalizing image.

"Pink's not going to be part of the color scheme," he shared, hoping a light joke would help lessen the thickening air between them.

It broke the tension. A little. Turning to him, she let out a choked giggle and smiled. A little. "And nothing frilly in the decorations, too," she murmured, appreciating his effort.

He closed the front door and followed her into the living room. "Like I said, it's on the sparse side. There's not much here yet. I'm planning on doing more shopping for furniture and other stuff…soon. Shopping's been low on the list. So far, I've been able to get by with the house as it is. I haven't needed anything more than what I've got."

He sounded so nervous. Nerves and Jim Frayne often didn't go hand-in-hand. Not in her mind. She opened her mouth, about to question him about it, when she caught the sight of the mattress tucked away in the far corner. This time, the room filled with her full laughter. Pointing, she murmured, "I see you and your uncle have at least a little of the same decorating style in common."

"What? Oh!" He followed her eyes and, with a sheepish grin, admitted, "There was a little trouble with the delivery. The mattress never made it past this room. I almost had Dan talked into helping me lug it up to the master bedroom but Mart's phone call interrupted us."

"Ah. The baby." Trixie nodded knowingly. Of course. A Bob-White baby would take precedent over anything else. She wouldn't expect anything less.

He wanted to touch her again. Desperately so. But she wasn't cooperating, not in the way he'd like her to. No questions; no sentimental declarations about the house. Nothing. He was too anxious to realize she was just as nervous as he was. On what it could mean; on what it did mean. After standing in the room without speaking for a good three minutes, with her looking everywhere but at him, he gave in and jerked a hand towards the hallway. "Have at it, Trixie. Feel free to explore anywhere. Upstairs, downstairs. It's all fair game."

Normally exploring rated extremely high on her list of favored activities. At the moment, she'd much rather talk. But she couldn't uncover the deeply buried courage to start the conversation that was demanded to be started. Even with the knowledge he'd resigned from his job, she simply couldn't do it. Not now; not yet. She wasn't that brave, not when it came to matters of the heart. The past seven years were a true testament to that. So, she took him up on his offer and started walking through the living room, her footsteps echoing off the bare walls.

As always, he watched her and catalogued her reaction. She wasn't talking. She wasn't saying a word. She nearly floated through the living room and out into the hall. Her steps were slow; tentative. Odd for her. Normally she jumped right in with her boundless energy. Curious about her reaction, or lack thereof, he headed over to the hallway where he could see her poke her pert nose into each of the rooms. Surprising him further, she didn't once leave the hallway. She never walked into any of the rooms, not even his office, which he figured would be the most interesting room of all since it actually had a good amount of furniture in it. It only took her a few minutes to finish her slow meander down the long hallway. Then she ended up in the large country-style kitchen.

A dishwasher. The first thing she noticed when she entered the bright kitchen was the dishwasher. Why a simple kitchen appliance should make her palms go wet with sweat or increase the pounding of her heart, she couldn't say. But there it was. A dishwasher in the room. A state-of-the-art one, if she didn't miss her guess. A sharp inquisitive glance showed all the other appliances matched it, too. She took it all in; had to grin a little at the appalling lack of furniture, both in this room and in the rest of the others. "You were right," she murmured at the quiet footsteps coming up behind her, staring straight ahead.

"About what?" He halted in the doorway, three paces behind her, and rested his hands on the doorframe.

"You don't have a lot of furniture." Moving farther in, she trailed a finger along the edge of the dishwasher, all the while keeping her back to him. She attempted to drum up the courage to turn around and face him. It took an effort but she pinned an overly bright smile on her face, one that didn't come close to reaching the depth of her eyes or disguise the wistful wish that the house could belong to them. Satisfied she had it just right, she turned and, for the first time since viewing his house from the outside, met his gaze squarely and kept it.

The smile on her face bothered him. It didn't look…natural. Damn it, he wished he'd planned out how to show her the house better. He didn't know what to do or say next. And she wasn't cooperating. At all. Too quiet, not the least bit inquisitive, and now with an odd, unnatural smile on her face. Fed up with them both, he inquired, his voice louder than it should have been, "So…what do you think? Do you like the house or not?"

Yes. Yes. A hundred, a thousand, a million times yes. She loved it. It was everything she'd ever dreamed of, everything she'd ever wanted. Her heart actually ached with how much she wished it was theirs. But how could she tell that to him? How? She wasn't brave enough. Which was kind of ironic. She'd only made a secretive career out of facing down the world's hardened criminals. Captured them, put them away, saw to their demise; all with hardly a blink of her incredible eyes. But she couldn't bring up such a subject to him. No, she didn't have that kind of courage. Her fingers rapped out a rhythm along the gleamingly new marble countertop and, once again, she settled for the easier road. "It's really…nice."

Good God. She may as well have reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. And then merrily tossed it out the window for good measure. A slight narrowing of his eyes was his only reaction. There was the briefest hint of sarcasm contained in his reply. "Glad you like it."

Something in his tone alerted her. Going on the defense, her head snapped back. The words flowed out, quickly and unchecked, while she gripped the smooth edge of the counter behind her. "I do…like it, that is. It's a great house, Jim. A really great house. It's so much better than that old mansion that used to sit here. You know, it's not dark and dusty or anything like that. It's the complete opposite. And it's definitely not a mausoleum anymore, either. Like it used to be. It's really nice."

At least the house had moved up from a mere nice to a really nice status. Something about the way she stood made him zero in past his initial hurt and disappointment and forced him to take the time to study her. Her hands, he noted, were gripped behind her back. After her burst of energetic and frenetic conversation ended, she'd already dropped her head, shielding her face from view again. She didn't appear to want to lift her head again. And if he didn't miss his guess, there was a suspicious bit of moisture leaking out of the corner of her eyes. After an odd pause, her rambling words picked up again, even without a single prompt from him. There was more to her reaction than he'd originally noticed. Realization came swiftly, and with a strong punch to the gut. She was trying to protect herself. He could relate. He'd relied on the same defense mechanism many, many times in the past. An understanding smile tilted his mouth.

"Yes. You did really well here, Jim. Really, really well. The house is really a perfect fit for Ten Acres. It really fits the setting perfectly. There are a few loose ends, of course, but I know you'll get them done. Really. I do. Knowing you, you'll probably complete them in record time, too." Afraid she was going to lose it, and lose it big soon, she threw a glance in the general direction of the brand new stove, pretended to notice the time with the help of the bright blue digital numbers of the clock but couldn't see anything past the thick blur of tears that were threatening to spill, and grasped at her only way out of the situation. "Gleeps! Would you look at the time. I think I'd better get back to the hospital before they wonder where I'm at. I'm surprised they haven't rounded up a posse yet to come and find us." Head down, she rushed forward, fully expecting him to move out of her way.

He stayed firm and waited until she almost bumped into him. Competent hands landed on her shoulders, halting her haphazard progress. She startled with surprise at the unexpected contact, enough so that her head whipped back. Yeah, he was most definitely right. There were a few tears slipping down her face. Her eyes sparkled with the moisture, resembling uncut sapphires exposed to the harsher elements. He didn't wipe them away. Not yet. Instead, he murmured, suddenly feeling more confident than he had since he'd introduced her to the house and she had closed in within herself, "No one's coming to find us, Trix. At least, not tonight. We're all alone."

She was going to lose it. Hell. Double hell. The emotions, the desire, and her dreams were all swirling together, bubbling and brewing within her. A dangerous combination. "Jim," she remarked throatily, wanting to get out of his sight before she broke down. She didn't want to break down in front of him. She had to leave. Now. "I really should go."

"No," he immediately disagreed with her and placed a firm finger under her chin. "You really should stay."

Stunned, she looked him directly in the face. And saw him for the first time; even through the curtain of unshed tears. Those eyes. Those emerald ones of his; the ones she knew even better than her own. They were staring down at her. Full of caring. Full of empathy. Full of love. My God. There was so much love. A wealth of it. For her. All for her. Her heart, that once traitorous organ, began to beat in precise time with her body and her soul. It was the first time in seven years all three were perfectly in tune with each other. "Jim," she said his name again, this time in breathless anticipation. Another tear traveled, unchecked, down her side of her face.

"You really, really, really need to stay," he smiled slightly, emphasizing the same word she'd repeatedly used in her recent string of ramblings. Leaning in, he whispered hoarsely, "And I do mean really."

"Jim," she reiterated again, unable to say anything else.

"I'm not letting you go. Not this time." Because her tears were just about doing him in, he used his thumbs to tenderly wipe them away and placed a soft kiss to her forehead. His breath was hot on her skin. "Not ever again."

To her, it sounded like a vow. An unbreakable, glorious, magnificent vow. "Jim Frayne," she replied, trying to sound forceful and failing miserably. But she wasn't afraid anymore. Not of her feelings; not of his. She knew. She finally knew. All she needed was to hear him say it. Shaking her head, making her unruly curls bounce with the movement, she demanded raspily, "I hate crying. You know I hate crying. So, you need to say it, and you need to say it now. Quickly."

He didn't need another prompt. He cupped her face tenderly. "Trix. Ten Acres is our home. Our house. Our home," he stressed again, just in case she missed it the first time. "I built it for us. It's where we have to live. Where we need to live. It's ours, Trix. Not mine. Not yours." He drew in another deep breath before declaring fiercely, "Ours."

"Gleeps! I was so hoping you would say that." Exactly as he'd wished she'd done upon seeing the house, she flung herself into his arms, twined her arms around him, and hung on dearly. Closing her eyes, she let out a little sigh. All the while the moments of their past paraded by her. Some good, some sweet. Some down-right painful. Holding on tightly to him, her anchor, she allowed the painful memories to vanish into the air. The time was right for a new path, a new trail, a new road. One that was not broken; one that was not dilapidated or shattered or moving in the wrong direction. One that belonged completely to them. It didn't merely feel right. It was right. Laying her forehead on his chest, she murmured the words that had been locked up for much too long in her heart, "I love you."

While the words were softly spoken and muffled by his shirt, they were the most powerful ones he'd ever had the pleasure of hearing. Gathering her closer, his hands ran up and down her back, as if he couldn't get enough of touching her. His voice was thick and gruff but no less powerful. "Oh, God, Trix. You have no idea how long I've been needing for you to say those words."

The emotion he was feeling couldn't be denied, not by her. Not any longer. She heard it in the ragged sound of his breathing; felt it in the tightening of his embrace. And cherished it even more when he kissed the top of her curls. Secure in his feelings for her, it made a little imp in Trixie come alive. She pulled back, just a little, just far enough so she could peek up at him through her waterlogged lashes and suggest helpfully, "Umm…Jim? Might I suggest that hearing them back would be appropriate right now? You're not the only one who's been waiting a long time, you know."

Amazingly, at the most profound moment of his life, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Oh, God. It felt so good, so freeing, like they had finally reached the end of a very long and lonely journey. And they ended up at the right destination. Together. Exactly where they were supposed to be. Because he couldn't help himself, he tangled his fingers in her hair. "Trixie. As if you didn't already know. I love you. _I love you_." He spoke slower, softer, more serious and added, "I always have."

"I never stopped loving you, either. Never. It's always been you. It'll always be you." She let the last few tears fall, unheeded. Before he could kiss her and distract her, she sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself to tell her surprise. He'd stunned her with the house. Now it was her turn to shock him. Fleetingly, she wondered how he would react to her news. Right as a stray slice of remaining sunlight spliced through the curtainless window, trapping them within its gorgeously golden glow, she tossed back her head and declared almost triumphantly although inside she was quaking, "You haven't asked how long I'm home this time."

Tilting his head to the side, he studied her, wondering why they were taking the time to talk, especially when there was a much better way to occupy their time. "Indefinite vacation?" he assumed, thinking the agency must have given her some serious downtime after her lengthy mission. In his opinion, she more than deserved it. Not that it really mattered. He loved her; she loved him. They had their house. Now he just needed her in his bed. And then he'd start working on how to keep her in Sleepyside.

For some reason it'd been much easier to tell Honey. And then to hear Honey spill the news to Dan. But Jim…but Jim…it was different, most likely because he meant everything to her. "No. Not a vacation," she replied, her words haltingly slow and her gaze fastened on him. She wanted to remember his reaction. "I'm not going back, Jim. I'm home. For good."

Home. Such a simple, simple word. It meant so much, especially when it was spoken within the confines of theirs. Jim heard it. Clearly. But it took a while for him to fully comprehend. His eyebrows winged up. "Whoa there, Trix. What did you say? You're home?"

"I'm not going back," she repeated, the expression of slow wonder on his face spurring her on. In response, her words started tumbling out in a riotous flood. "I'm not. I'm really not. I resigned, Jim. I truly did. I'm done working for the CDA. That's why I didn't call you right after we returned to San Diego. I was so busy getting everything wrapped up out there. The debriefings, the good-byes, the sale of the house. All that type of stuff. I kinda just wanted to get it all done, get home and then tell everyone about it once I made it back to Sleepyside. I wanted to surprise you. I'm done with it all, Jim, and I'm here to stay."

Her mouth was moving. Words were flowing. They were probably in earnest too, judging from the seriousness of her expression. He couldn't hear a lick of them though, not past the sudden roaring of his ears. He was stuck on what she'd already said, a whole paragraph ago. "You're…not going back?" God, he'd been planning on begging and pleading for her to stay in Sleepyside, for her to stay with him. He'd never, ever, once imagined that she would already be there, waiting for him to be the one to cross the finish line last.

She nodded once. Tentatively. Emotions were traipsing across his face quickly. Too quickly. She couldn't successfully identify any of them. Making a meal of her bottom lip, she admitted again, in case he missed it the first time, "I resigned from the CDA." She touched a tender spot on her back, yet another reason why she was later in returning to Sleepyside than she'd wanted to be. A certain protocol had to be taken care of. "You can check my tattoo if you want. The initials are gone. I had them removed before I left." But not the infinity sign. Nope. It was still there, inked within the green star, the one that stood for him, left behind with special permission from the Chief. That sign had always been for Jim more than for the agency. Always.

"I don't need to look at your damn tattoo. I believe you." It was better than the best Christmas morning he'd ever experienced. Someway, somehow, he was getting everything he'd ever wanted. A future. With her. It was right there, glowing back at him through the biggest, brightest, most beautiful blue eyes ever. God, he needed to celebrate. And there was one sure-fire way to do just that. Eager for her, eager for him, he put his hands on her waist and hauled her up against him. Even before he kissed her, right there in their kitchen, his breathing turned fast and ragged in heated anticipation.

Oh, sweet Lord. It was everything she remembered, everything she dreamed about, everything she imagined during their months apart. Only, now it was better. She didn't bother to question how it could become better. She'd contemplate the mystery of their all-consuming passion later. Instinctively, she went up on the tips of her toes and quickly opened her mouth to his, welcoming him. Her hands moved up his back, linked behind his neck, and she moved her body more firmly into his.

He was done with wasting time. They'd blown enough of it as it was. Ready to celebrate, he claimed her, exactly as he'd been dying to do since the moment she'd stepped into view at the hospital. Dipping his tongue in, he gently dueled with hers, all the while desire hammered away at him, demanding more and more. He cupped the round globes of her bottom, pulled her tighter into him, and plundered some more. He didn't know how long they kissed; couldn't accurately guess. After all, he'd only been fantasizing about her since the morning she'd disappeared from the beach house in San Diego. Nearing the edge of that perilous cliff, he gradually drew back, hands still on her waist. Watching her chest rapidly rise and fall, his smile carried a hint of male arrogance to it.

"Gleeps!" Her lips worked hard to form the single word. Resting her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, an amazing sense of peace and tranquility overtaking her. She was getting everything she ever wanted. Everything she ever needed. Right there, right with him. And it couldn't have been sweeter. Smiling against his shirt, she admitted, "I've been waiting a long, long time for that."

His mouth moved along her cheek, reigniting fires that hadn't had a chance to be extinguished. Quietly, he agreed with her, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin near her ear, "Tell me about it."

Her smile widened. Loving the idea of him needing her as much as she needed him, she brought her hands up and fluttered her lashes flirtatiously at him. She inclined her head towards the doorway. Pitching her voice low, she murmured suggestively, "I couldn't help but notice that you have a conveniently placed mattress in your living room."

Tempting. So very tempting. He wanted to take her up on the offer. God, his body was practically demanding that he do just that, and right now, but there was one small, remaining item he needed to take care of first. "Believe me, we'll get there." He waggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh once again. "But come with me first. There's a room you bypassed earlier. We need to go back there. There's something in it you need to see."

"Which room?" She hadn't paid as much attention as she should have during her quick tour of the first floor. She'd been too caught up in her emotions, too caught up in her wishes, too caught up in her own dreams and desires. She couldn't recall a single interesting fact about any of the other rooms. Other than the large mattress lying in the living room, of course, she thought with a speculative glint to her eyes.

"My office." Because touching her was a necessity, he rested a hand lightly on her waist and guided her out of the kitchen. "We're going to my office."

"Your office?" Had she seen his office? She couldn't call up a single impression of such a room. It must exist, though, since he was taking her to it.

"Yeah. You've got to see it." Finding simple joy in the presence of her by his side, he speculated how she would react to Max's unexpected present to them. Shock had been his immediate reaction. But it had been quickly followed by a wealth of gratitude. Would she see it that way? Nerves that had recently receded poked up again. Clearing his throat, he gestured to the open doorway. "Here we are."

"Hmm. I think I remember seeing this room earlier." She walked into the office. A quick sweep of the room showed her all the elements of a normal home office. Nothing surprising. Nothing out of the ordinary. It all seemed just as it should be. Settling near the window, she eyed him curiously, unable to decipher what was so important about the room.

Never taking his eyes off her, he headed over to the roll-top desk, picked up an unimposing brown envelope, and walked back to her. Along the way he pulled out a small note and held it out, thinking Max's note would help explain the contents of the envelope a little bit better. "This is pretty important. Before you see what's inside, you should read the note first. It came with the envelope."

Baffled lines wrinkled her forehead. She accepted the note and recognized Max's handwriting immediately. Her curiosity escalated with a vengeance. What could her former partner have mailed to Jim? And why? Her eyebrows snapped together as she quickly read the note again. Nothing too unusual in the message…expect for the postscript. It stuck out. Ominously. Knowing Max, whatever Jim had to tell her was something big. After taking a deep breath, she inquired curiously, "So…What do you get to tell me? And…will I like it?"

A thought jumped into his mind. She wasn't going to like it. She was going to freaking _love_ it. He opened his mouth to tell her just that; then snapped it shut. No, he wasn't going to persuade her to his way of thinking. She needed a chance to respond without a nudge in any kind of a direction from him. Intentionally wiping away all expression off his face, he handed over the envelope. As evenly as possible, he stated, "Look inside, Trix. You'll understand once you read it."

"Okay." Cautiously, she drew out the paper and scanned it. Her mouth hit the floor. Her eyes grew to twice their normal size. And her cheeks flooded with color. "Gleeps!" she exclaimed in a low whisper after reading the wedding certificate of one James Winthrop Frayne II to one Beatrix Bernice Belden for a third time. But the same words were there, every single time. In stark and unrelenting black and white, leaving absolutely no doubt in her mind of its legality. As she had good reason to know, the CDA could really do anything. And it seemed Max had more than utilized a few of the resources at his fingertips to marry them legally. Rendered speechless, momentarily incapable of thought, certainly unable to participate in any kind of a conversation, her eyes flew towards his. "Married?" she squeaked out.

A nod served as his answer. The stakes were high, much higher than they'd ever been in any casino in Vegas. Keeping her in sight the entire time, he reached into a drawer and pulled out two items. One was another envelope. This time; small and white. The other was a tiny black velvet box. She couldn't quite cover up another gasp, which only enhanced the anticipation of the moment. After opening up the envelope, he shook it and two circles of gold slipped out onto the desk, one big and one small.

"My ring," she breathed out, pointing to the wedding ring she'd left in the lockbox before leaving on her mission. "I wondered where it had disappeared to. But you…" She gazed up at him, an unasked question on her face. "You! You have it. You are the one who took it."

"Guilty," he admitted without feeling the least amount of guilt, a half-smile on his face. She wasn't running for the hills or shaking with apprehension. In fact, she looked…stunned. In a good way. He let the smile grow, his own last remaining nerves receding as his confidence began to grow. "I took it out of the lockbox after Heidi showed us your cell phones. She wanted to prove to me how serious a black-out mission was. Seeing your cell inside certainly drove her point home. I believed her. When she and Jocelyn were busy, I took the ring out and kept it."

"I didn't know what happened to it. It wasn't there when I returned to the agency. I checked the box right after I got back. I didn't care about that stupid pink cell phone. I wanted my ring back." She reached out, touched the smooth gold with her fingertip, itching for him slip it back onto her naked finger, where it belonged.

A flick of the wrist opened the velvet box. "How about this one? Do you recognize it, too?" Without waiting for an answer, he took it out. The diamond solitaire was light in his palm. An old memory came back to him. When he left it for her, that memorable summer when she was thirteen years old and he'd run away from Ten Acres, afraid that his stepfather was going to find him and take him away. So much had changed since then. It amazed him how much. And, yet, here they were, right back at their very beginning. Together. As fate had planned it for them. They'd managed to make it back.

"How could I ever forget it?" There was no way she ever could. Not anything involving one James Winthrop Frayne II. Every memory was safely preserved. Big or small. Happy or sad. She had them all. But she was greedy. Now she needed more. Many, many more. Pressing both of her hands against her thighs, she waited for him.

The diamond wasn't the biggest or newest, and certainly wasn't the most expensive one available out there. But it sparkled and shimmered with a wondrous life all of its own, serving as both a promise and a vow. Powerful. He couldn't ask for anything more. She didn't want anything else. Emerald collided with sapphire. Wanting to see every nuance of her face, he shared emotionally, "I always knew it would be the one I'd give to you. When I asked you to marry me."

The time for nerves was long gone. She knew; just looking at him, just hearing him. She knew. Her heart was so full, so incredibly full. She blinked back a fresh set of tears, determined not to let another tear fall. With that in mind, she tapped the certificate, that wonderful, wonderful certificate, and mentally composed a heartfelt thank-you to her former partner. "Ah? Jim?" she reminded him, trying hard not to giggle and failing in her attempt. She couldn't help it. She was too damn happy. "You don't have to ask me. It appears we're already married."

"Thanks to Max." With one edge of his lip curling up in shared amusement, Jim inched closer. "It seems the wonders of the CDA knows no bounds. You told me that all along."

"They certainly can do anything they want to." Her curls bounced with excitement, drawing his eyes to them. One wide step and she was standing in front of him. Keeping her hands on her thighs, she smiled, a large, blissful one that allowed her dimples to dance and her eyes to shine in the way he liked best, "You know, I just remembered Max told me there was a big surprise in store for me when I got to Sleepyside, right before I left San Diego. I tried to get him to tell me what it was but he was frustratingly close-mouthed about it. All he'd say is that I'd find out about the surprise from you." Her voice softened, degree by degree. "I never imagined something like this, though. Never."

"How do you feel about it?" He sucked in a deep breath, waiting for her answer.

Stars practically danced in her eyes. "Jim!" she exclaimed, chuckling a little at his obvious concern.

"You're okay with it? Really okay with it?" He couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted…no, he needed to hear her affirmative answer.

The room filled with her sudden burst of laughter. She started ticking off some of the positives on her fingers. "Let's see. No rehearsal dinner. No photographers. No fittings. No flowers. No guest list. No seating chart. No big, huge society wedding." She tapped a finger to her chin, trying hard to contain another bought of giggles. "Plus there's the added benefit that we're already married. Yeah, I guess you could say that I'm okay with it. More than okay with it, in fact. I believe you could even safely say that I love it."

"You're Mrs. Frayne now, you know." The last of his remaining nerves settled. Jim pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered huskily, "For better or worse."

"We've been through the worst already." She gave her head a little shake. "I don't know about you but I'm ready for the better."

His lopsided grin was her answer. "So am I. With the power of hindsight, it's clear to see that there wasn't much we did right in all of this." Because he loved to touch her, he ran a hand up and down her arm. Then as quietly as possible he listed their list of past transgressions. "We broke up. We didn't speak. We avoided each other every chance we got. We moved away from each other. We let the entire country separate us. I changed my career. You took on a secret one. We willingly stayed apart for way too long. Then came last April. Brian's and Honey's wedding turned out to be a wonderful readjustment for us but it ended too soon. We had to leave each other, just when things were starting to go right again between us. However, two months later, fate intervened in the form of Las Vegas."

"Viva Las Vegas," she joked through a watery giggle, so damn happy she felt like she was going to burst with it. She loved him; he loved her. And, thanks to one devious Max Donovan, they were _married_. Judging from the vibes emanating off of him in nearly tangible waves, he was more than happy with the unexpected state of their union. As was she. Every dream she ever had was coming true, right before her very eyes.

He held onto her hand and felt her tremble at the contact. "There, in Las Vegas, I found out so much more about you. I found out so much more about myself. What I wanted; what I needed. What was important. All those barricades we'd made came tumbling down, Trixie. Every single, last one."

"I love you so much, Jim," Trixie broke in earnestly, sliding up to him. Their thighs touched. She rested a hand on his hip, gripped his other hand hard. "So much. I can't tell you how grateful I am for our Vegas adventure. I don't know if we'd ever have come so far without it."

"You're right. Although it pains me to admit it, you're absolutely right." He started drawing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. Gentle, tantalizing circles; ones that made her pulse quicken, her eyes darken and her heart go buoyant. "It's rather funny when you think about it. Our sequence in all this was all wrong. We even got married as the wrong people. Although we did have one hell of a wedding night," he inserted with a purely male grin that had her blushing. "But then we were separated again, before we had a chance to tell each other how we felt. I built the house we wanted together while you were gone. Your friend Max 'married' us. Nothing was done in the proper order. Absolutely nothing." Stopping to take a deep breath, he added, awed, "Yet, somehow, it works."

"Imperfectly perfect," Trixie murmured to herself with a charming little laugh, thinking the slight twist on Honey's catch phrase was just, well, perfect for them and for the road they had traveled. "When you look at it, that's exactly how it is. We're not perfect people, Jim. Neither one of us. But you're right. What we did together does work. Gleeps, it somehow works absolutely, positively perfectly for us."

"So I can finally slip this ring on your finger? You've got to know I've been dying to do this since I was like fifteen years old. It's belonged to you since the very beginning." Tossing her a crooked grin, Jim waited with growing impatience for her answer.

There was no need to think. She immediately held out her left hand. "Wedding ring first, Jim," she murmured and caught her breath as he slid the thin gold band home. When he followed up with the engagement ring, her hand shook a little with the bounty of emotions she was experiencing. Finished, she held her hand up, admiring the pretty set of rings. At that moment, the very last of the day's sunlight hit the diamond, making it radiate with a wondrous and lively fire all its own. Charmed, she let out a soft sigh of appreciation. "It's beautiful."

"Ah, Trix?" Jim held his wedding ring in front of her face, interrupting her perusal of her rings.

"Impatient? That's usually my job," she teased gently, taking the ring and putting it on him.

He caught her hand in his and felt her tremble. Leaning down, he sealed their impromptu ring ceremony with a kiss. "Like I said, I've been waiting for you for a very long time." There was a slight pause before he added fiercely, "Trixie Frayne."

"Thank God for me," she responded meaningfully, recycling his powerful words from earlier. He drew his head back, shocked. An incredibly slow, incredibly handsome smile split his face, showing how much he appreciated her response. Resting against him, she shared, "I can't help but wonder what all of our family and friends are going to say. I mean, I know they're going to be happy once they get over the initial shock. How could they not be happy for us, especially when we're so happy? But…" She trailed off helplessly, unable to imagine how the rest of the crew was going to react. A sudden thought blindsided her, making her wince. Oh, her father wasn't to take the new turn of events well. Not at all.

"You don't have to worry." Jim brushed his lips near her ear and dropped his last bombshell of the evening. "They already know."

Astonished yet again, she drew back to study him. There was only one conclusion she could come to. He was serious; totally serious. It made her scowl. "How…"

He interrupted her question before it had a chance to form. "I've got one word for you and one word only." Pausing for dramatic purposes only, he shared in a loud stage-whisper, "Dan."

Her blue eyes seemed to take up her entire face. The questions came out, rapid-fire. "Dan? Daniel Mangan? He knows? How the hell could he possibly know?" Then she interrupted her own tirade. "What a minute. And he _told _them? Gleeps! Oh. Oh! My dad. Obviously, you're still alive because you're here. But…what about Dan? Is he still breathing?" She called a halt to her rush of questions, only to add one more to it. "And what the hell was he thinking?"

"Maybe Dan figured if I needed immediate medical attention, help would be right there," Jim teased, earning a small answering chuckle from her.

Her chuckles died quickly. "My dad," she mumbled again, cringing at the scenario that came to mind. It wouldn't have been pleasant. "He wouldn't have liked it."

"No. He didn't. But you don't have to worry. Your mother knew the right way to handle him. She calmed him down, which is why I currently possess the ability to see another day." He glanced at the clock on the corner of his desk and took her hand to lead her out of the room. "Don't get too angry at Dan, though. In the long run, I think he did us a huge favor."

It suddenly occurred to her that she was the last to know she was actually married. The knowledge didn't sit too well with her. She dug in her heels. Narrowing her eyes dangerously, she grumbled, "What do you mean?"

"No one's been knocking down our front door, have they? Not even your father." To illustrate his point, he hooked a thumb in the direction of the doorway. His grin held more than a hint of arrogance to it. "Dan, damn him, bought us the most valuable commodity of all. Time. In fact, I don't think we'll have anyone bother us for a while. We've got the whole of the night, Trix. No one's going to interrupt us. No one. We are going to be completely alone. All night long."

The look he gave her, so full of promise, so full of passion, was potent enough to steal her breath and make her toes curl at the same time. She immediately forgot her burgeoning annoyance with one infuriating Daniel Mangan and magnanimously decided that she would let him live to see another day. Besides, she more than liked the idea of having Jim all to herself for the rest of the night. With plans forming in her mind, she met his smile with a feminine one of her own. Going up on her tiptoes, she whispered, her warm breath caressing the tender skin behind his ear, "I think I like being alone, with no one to bother us. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I like it. A whole lot."

"I know I do." She was giving him chills of the good kind. She hadn't touched him. Hadn't kissed him…and, still, he was already raring to go. Damn, she was intoxicating. Better than the most acclaimed of wines.

"About that mattress…"she began, tapping a finger to her lips and lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

Playfully he nipped her earlobe and earned a tiny, satisfying moan from her. "What of it?"

To the best of her ability, she ignored her body's response to him. With little sparkles of mischief shimmering in her eyes, she peeped up at him and inquired playfully, "Is it stuffed with money, too?"

Astonished, he drew back and stared down at the laughing woman in his arms. His startled bark of laughter quickly mixed with hers. He loved it. He wanted the house to ring with their laughter, to swell with their happiness, to reflect their life together. In true romance novel style, he swept her up in his arms, calling a surprised end to her giggles, and parlayed back, "How 'bout we go find out?"

Under normal circumstances, she'd have insisted that she was perfectly capable of walking the twenty or more odd feet to the living room. But she figured she'd let him have his way. This time. Besides, she was extremely content to allow him to carry her. There was something so incredibly romantic about being carried away, especially by her husband. Without wasting a moment, she wrapped both arms around his neck and whispered, "The view's pretty nice from up here."

"It'll get better," he promised, his pace increasing ever so slightly when she started creating an invisible line of kisses along his neck. His physical reaction was immediate. Hell, he had to tighten his grip on her, not wanting to drop her in a heap to the floor.

Pleased with her ministrations, she dropped her head back, a satisfied smile on her lips and a knowing look gleaming in her eyes. "Believe me, I know it will. I'm equipped with an excellent memory."

"So am I." Much to his relief, they cleared the hall. Because moving quickly was becoming a necessity, he picked up the pace and brought her into the living room. He didn't stop to flick on the lights or admire what little furniture was in the room. No, he made a bee-line for the beckoning mattress tucked away in the corner. Going to his knees, he carefully deposited her on the coverlet and joined her, all within a manner of seconds. The vision of her lying on the blanket, with her curls tousled about, imprinted itself in his mind. Yeah, he wasn't lying. He had an excellent memory, too. He couldn't wait to make new ones. Twirling a spiraling curl around his finger, he admitted, "Some of them weren't the best."

"No," she agreed without hesitation. It was true. But they didn't have the power to hurt any more. In fact, they didn't have any power left at all. "It's time to let them be, Jim. We've learned from them. We won't make the same mistakes ever again. Now, I want new ones. Many, many, many new ones," she stressed, watching him stretch out besides her. She quickly scooted over to him so that their bodies aligned up flawlessly. "And Ten Acres is the perfect place to start."

"I changed the design after I came back from San Diego. I couldn't see a log cabin house up here any longer. I wanted the home we'd planned on together, so many years ago. I wanted our house," he shared, speaking intently. "Our home."

She loved the sound of it. Our house. Our home. Leaning up on her elbows, she shared the realization as it burst through her, just like the brave sun parting the clouds after a fast-moving summer storm, "It seems like I've been running away from it for just about ever."

"Me, too." And he had. From his change in college majors, to Harvard and then to his job with his father's company and his life in New York City. All worthwhile commitments, each and every single one of them, but none of them, not a single one, gave him the peace of mind, the stirring of the soul, that simply being with Trixie offered him. He laid his forehead against hers. "It's good to be home."

She ran a finger along the edge of his cheek, giggled a little at the fine stubble she encountered there. "To think I had to go all the way to California and back to find it."

"We weren't ready," he responded truthfully. Moving in, he laid a hand on one slim hip. His voice went hoarse. "Not then. It took seven years, Trix. Seven of the longest, toughest, and loneliest years of my life. But we're ready now. Both of us. And that makes all the difference."

Simple. So simple. Sometimes the most complicated of issues could be boiled down to the simplest of solutions. There wasn't any use in debating it or discussing it to death. Nope. Not when the man who'd starred in every single one of her secret fantasies from the time she was a teenager was lying next to her, with the most amazing look of reverence he seemed to reserve just for her on his face. Framing his face with her smaller hands, she got out, her voice shaking with emotion, "Jim. I'm ready for whatever life throws at us. Broken roads and all. As long as I've got you, I've got all I need. You're everything to me. I love you."

"I couldn't ask for anything else. Anyone else. I love you, too." She was his. Amazingly enough, she was his again. His body ached with unshed passion. His head swam with all manners of thoughts and feelings attacking him. One thing, and one thing only, was for certain. Like a light shining out from the darkest of nights, she belonged to him. And he belonged to her. Needing to be gentle, wanting to show her exactly how much she meant to him, he descended slowly. When their lips met, it was like a sighing of two weary souls finally being reborn and regifted, a truly beautiful and splendid union.

The moment was powerful. She moaned against his lips. Playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck, she declared lovingly, her words tickling his skin, "I'm so very glad you do."

"Always," Jim vowed into her gorgeous halo of hair. Traveling downwards, he repeated huskily near her ear, "Always."

While she wasn't fanciful by nature, she loved the thought of always from him. And, as she burrowed her head against his supple chest, as he ran his hands up and down her back and over some very sensitive areas of her body, as her breathing began to quicken and her skin started to heat, she took a moment to silently send up another prayer full of gratitude. She didn't know how they'd managed to do it. She couldn't guess how they'd overcome the nearly impossible hurdles of their past. Love. Trust. Respect. All three had been regained and played an integral part in piecing them back together. It left her with the most phenomenal feeling in the world, one she was going to cherish forever, just like she was going to cherish him and their life together. He was her home, just like she was his. She wouldn't want it any other way. Her eyes shone with peace; her hands trembled with emotion. And her voice rang with the unequivocal joy he brought her. "Jim, we're home."

**Author's Note:**

Thank you all so much for your wonderful support! I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me! While this is the last official chapter of the story, there will be an epilogue posted at a later date (I need to write it first!). I will also have a little 'something extra' chapter posted at my website...just in case any reader wants to find out what happens next for Jim and Trixie! I won't post it here because I don't want an M rating for this story. It'll be posted on my site along with the epilogue.

Once again, thank you so much for supporting this whole trilogy!

Mylee


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